


(I'll Be Near) To Chase Away Fear

by sufferbuddies



Category: Darkwing Duck (Cartoon 1991), DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Attempts at Villain Redemption, Canon-Typical Violence, Coping, Domestic Fluff, Eventual Happy Ending, Found Family, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Never Meet Your Heroes, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery Is Not A Straight Line, Slow Burn, Superheroes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:28:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 140,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28155333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sufferbuddies/pseuds/sufferbuddies
Summary: Darkwing Duck is the hero for losers, and St. Canard is the city where sometimes, heroes lose.Becoming Darkwing Duck is no small feat for an actor and a Launchpad.  There's so much more to being a hero than comic books and Saturday Morning cartoons. They have everything a hero family needs! Catchphrases, cool gadgets, a secret lair, an awesome team, and villains... but how much is a hero shaped by their villains; both on the streets, and in their heart?A Darkwing Duck story set in the Ducktales 2017 universe.
Relationships: Drake Mallard & Gosalyn Mallard & Launchpad McQuack, Drake Mallard/Launchpad McQuack, Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera & Drake Mallard
Comments: 208
Kudos: 123





	1. Let's Get Dangerous

**Author's Note:**

> Our story picks up right after the events of the Moonlander invasion at the end of Season 2. We wrote most of this story prior to Let's Get Dangerous airing, but we do our best to be canon-parallel since our story is not fully canon-compliant. Future chapters may have additional warnings, and if so we will put them at the start of the chapter so you can get dangerous in the safest way possible.

One lanky duck sat alone at the bus station, awaiting the night bus from Duckburg to Saint Canard. The first streaks of twilight were beginning to color the sky, smearing it with broad strokes of purple and orange across the few clouds that were scattered low over the last bright edges of the horizon. But he didn’t pay any attention to the beautiful sight above him; he was scrolling on his phone, his elbow on his knee, his head resting on the back of his hand, propping himself up as he sat on top of a hefty purple suitcase. He wasn’t actually _reading_ any of the text on his screen, instead just idly watching it slide by as he flicked his thumb, hoping that time could be convinced to pass faster by this mindless ritual. The breathtaking wonder of the natural world would have to wait. 

This was scarcely unusual because this duck was none other than Drake Mallard, who was, despite all appearances to the contrary, incredibly busy. He was busy wallowing. Wallowing in his own state of remorse for his life. For all of his determination and confidence, his ardent belief that he was cool, handsome, and clever, his indomitable will and undefeatable spirit... he was feeling pretty terrible.

Drake Mallard had to admit to himself that he was beaten.

Not beaten up or even beaten down; instead he had been soundly beaten by a steady stream of unlucky events. After the _Darkwing: First Darkness_ movie was cancelled and the studio destroyed, McDuck Enterprises had firmly refused to pursue any further projects involving the entertainment industry, movie-related or otherwise. In other words, he lost his big break, and his movie career was up in a burst of purple decorative smoke before he’d even had a chance to prove himself. Outside of that, Duckburg wasn’t exactly the place to break into the movie business. Not that such circumstances daunted Drake. He went to a few auditions and tried odd jobs – all the usual things to make some money – but Duckburg had its own share of problems. 

Sure, he was no Scrooge McDuck: billionaire, adventurer of legend, master of alliteration, roguishly Scottish, probably immortal…

Still, he'd had a taste of feeling like a hero during the moon invasion. Even if no one could remember who he was. Even if when they did notice him they treated him like some freak in a purple costume. Even if he could still feel every one of the blows from those moon thugs. Even if he was way out of his depth and had no idea what was going on half the time. He did what he thought was right; he was always happy to help! At the time, he had felt so brave, so sure…

But now, as he sat at the bus stop with his suitcases, he just felt silly. 

Now he had to head back to his hometown and find a real job. Now, he wasn’t a hero; he was just Drake Mallard: a guy with no life direction, lots of bruises, a borderline unhealthy sense of hero worship and a bus to catch.

Luckily for him, he had a friend in Duckburg who had other plans.

That friend was Launchpad McQuack, who didn't know a lot, but he did know one thing: he didn't want to leave things like this.

He had gone to see Drake off to St. Canard, maybe see if he needed any help moving, but had found his dressing room empty. Mr. McDee had evidently already sent him off on his way with bus tickets (bus tickets! _seriously?_ ) and if he had any chance at a real goodbye, he was going to have to drive like his life depended on it.

Luckily, that was how he always drove.

The fact that he had no idea which bus Drake was getting on or when it was arriving hadn't occurred to him. The information didn’t seem vital until he had crashed the limo that Mr. McDee had let him borrow into the "bus parking only" sign and scrambled out of the driver's seat, looking around frantically for a bus schedule _._

Drake was so surprised by the crash that he nearly fell off of his suitcase. Without thinking, he was already on his feet, rushing over to help whatever poor soul had just crashed on the other side of the bus station. After everything that had happened, he was developing a habit of running directly toward danger, rather than away from it. In this situation, however, danger was a fender bender. It didn’t even look particularly nasty, but both the car, (a limousine, actually!) that had crashed up onto the embankment and the duck driving it were very familiar. 

"Hey! Are you okay? If you're hurt just sit still, I'll get help—Launchpad? What are you doing here?"

Climbing out of the front seat and breaking into a run, Launchpad swept Drake up into a hug without hesitation. 

"Drake! I'm so glad I caught you, buddy!"

Launchpad held him at arm's length. Then, he realized he should probably put him down, so he did, dusting him off with an awkward smile. "Oh! Sorry. Mr. McDee sent you off in such a hurry I didn't get to say goodbye! Not that I want to say goodbye...I mean, I don't _not_ want to say goodbye but...a bus? _Really?_ " As Launchpad spoke, He eyed the bus with some distrust before returning his attention to Drake. Launchpad McQuack didn’t trust any bus he wasn’t driving himself. "You know, I have my driver's license...now."

Drake shrugged, then rubbed the back of his head a bit sheepishly. "Sorry I didn't tell you I was heading home. I didn't want to bother anybody. What are you—? I mean, well, yeah I was going to take the bus. I'm from Saint Canard, it’s four hours away. That's kinda far to drive, isn’t it? But it _would_ mean we would have some time to catch up..."

"Are you kidding? Four hours is nothing! Seriously, it's no big deal, I can do that, no sweat!"

They both glanced back at the limo, parked haphazardly up over the embankment, the bus station information sign now bent around the front corner of the bumper, and an awkward silence fell over them.

"I mean, if you...if you don't want to, that's fine, though."

"Oh! Well—I—uh, sure! I-I can't offer you a ton of gas money or anything, but I was just going to zone out and watch old Darkwing Duck episodes on my phone." He chuckled a little and picked up his backpack, tossing his duffel over his shoulder as dragged his suitcase over, loading his belongings into the back. "A limo? Wow, you can drive a limo?" He climbed into the passenger seat instead of the back.

"Yeah! Mr. McDee lets me drive it wherever I need to so long as I'm back whenever he needs me to fly him anywhere...but ever since Dewey's mom got back from the moon, I've had a lot more free time so... you were gonna watch old DW episodes, huh? Which season?"

"Well, yeah. I saved some of my favorites. I really like the pre-Negaduck arc. I know it was cut off at a cliffhanger, but I was just really excited for the reveal. We never got to see him for real, you know—" He cut himself off while buckling his seat belt. "Did you say fly? Like a plane? That's super cool!"

"It is? I mean uh, yeah, I'm a pilot! I need to work on my landings but there are few things I love more than flying." He pushed a button on the dash and a small television screen popped out of the dashboard. A familiar theme song began playing. "Darkwing Duck might just be one of them..."

Drake hummed along to himself. _"Daring duck of mystery, champion of right, creeps out of the shadows, Darkwing of the night~_ Heheh, that's pretty impressive though! Flying, driving, that's getting dangerous! You're pretty cool, you know that?"

Launchpad was slightly distracted, as he was also humming along to the theme song, so when Drake said he was cool he was caught a bit off guard.

"What? Me? I'm nowhere as cool as _you_ though! I mean, you got to actually _be_ Darkwing Duck and stand up for what's right! You got yourself beat up by all those Moonlanders to protect everyone, the whole Earth! Now _that's_ getting dangerous! Nothing's cooler than that." 

The smaller duck smiled, perking up. "It was pretty cool! Being at that big war meeting with everybody, facing off against evil! You were there too! I bet you get to go on all kinds of dangerous adventures with Mr. McDuck! Fighting aliens! Mummies! Finding cursed treasure!"

"I guess so...I'm just the pilot, though. You're a real hero!" Launchpad answered without a second thought. He looked at Drake for a moment, studying him. To do so, he took his eyes off the road, swerved to correct, then let out an easy-going laugh _._ "So, what do you think? Are you gonna keep the cape on in St. Canard? Be the terror that flaps in the night?"

"Me? Oh, I don't know. It's kind of... complicated?"

Drake wasn’t exactly ready to explain how he had casually failed at his big break, how being a superhero wasn’t exactly a viable career option when you had bills to pay, how he had legitimately run out of money while trying to live in Duckburg...it was all a bit of a mess. His life was just a mess. At least, that was what went through his head as he held onto the door handle, leaning casually into a second swerve as Launchpad drifted around a tight corner. 

"Is it? It didn't seem too complicated when you were out there doing it. You're a natural! The way you took hit after hit and just walked it off, just like the real DW..."

 _The real DW_ …

They both thought about Jim, the hero they had unquestionably looked up to for so many years.

Sure, he had lost his direction at the end, but even so...he was gone now.

They drove in silence for a long while, Launchpad keeping his focus on the road for once, glancing only periodically at the episode of Darkwing Duck playing on the dashboard screen. After a while he spoke softly, his voice gentle and cautious.

"I guess it's possible there's such a thing as...too dangerous."

"Yeah...."

Drake found himself passively watching the road and mumbling along with the dialogue of the episode; “ _If you think you're getting out of here, you're in for a shock! Aha, not while I'm wearing these rubber boots! Suck gas, evildoer!”_

"Well, thanks again for driving me. I uh, Duckburg was exciting! I'll never forget it. Oh! Did you have any fan theories for what happened after episode 62?" He felt like he was rambling, trying to fill any gaps in the conversation, not that Launchpad made him feel awkward, that wasn’t the case at all, but more that talking, even rambling, kept his mind off of things, and Launchpad always answered without missing a beat.

"I always thought it was sort of a cop-out that we never got to see the _real_ Negaduck in the end. I mean, it was obvious that the writers were setting up a big reveal but we never got our showdown in the end. That was kind of a letdown."

"I know, right? I read that there was supposed to be a big special to start season five, but after the show was cancelled, obviously it never got made. We only got to see him disguised as Darkwing! Oh! There's some cool fan scripts on the DW discussion boards about how maybe he was an evil twin, or him from an alternate universe where he became the villain! Ha, I would have loved that, it gives a cool introspection to his character, like DW having to face that if he stopped defending truth and justice, he might see himself as a villain!"

As the smaller duck rambled excitedly, his entire demeanor noticeably improved. He never had a friend to talk about Darkwing Duck with, and it was like Launchpad not only cared, but understood what it was like to be passionate about what most considered a silly TV show!

Launchpad stared at him, driving purely on instinct and peripheral vision, his jaw hanging open and a slight blush creeping over his cheeks. There was only one user who actively commented on his scripts and kept up with each and every update he posted to his fanfics.

"No way! Are you _PurpleTerror91_? I didn't think anyone actually read my fan scripts...and you...actually liked them? You didn't think the part about him facing his own demons and realizing Negaduck was a manifestation of his own madness and internalized villainy was too much?" 

But Launchpad’s anxieties were assuaged almost instantly by his companion’s reaction, when his eyes lit up, balling his fists excitedly.

"OH my gosh yes! Are you really _CrashToTheMax?_ I love your fanfics! No, I loved it, I didn't think it was too dark, I think you put a lot of thought into handling character development and the struggles of making morally gray decisions for the good of everyone and wrestling with how to be a better person! I love it, it's applying real world morals to the universe!"

Launchpad laughed, a deep, genuine sound full of absolute joy. He took one hand off the wheel, pointing at himself excitedly.

"Yes! That's me! I spend hours on those fics! I like to work on them while I'm flying. Watching the clouds is nice but it can get kinda boring..." He shrugged, then put a hand to his forehead, a look of wonder on his face. He really never expected that people would read his fanworks. They were purely self-indulgent. "I can't believe you've read them! I must have published hundreds of pages by now. I thought I was the only one who cared what happened to DW after the cliffhanger from a moral perspective, or where Negaduck really came from, or..."

"No, no! It was great! I can tell you thought about it a lot, it felt really real, like DW could be a real person, like it’s something that lives inside everyone! That's really powerful, I’m totally a fan of your work!"

The limo swerved hard again as it banked around a corner, threatening to tip over before settling hard back down with a thud. Launchpad smiled apologetically as Drake held onto the door handle to steady himself after impact.

"Sorry 'bout that."

"I see why you picked that username! Woo~!” 

"Oh! Yeah, heh heh, I've gotten pretty good at crashing over the years. You could say it's a skill of mine..."

Drake let go of the handle to point at a sign as it passed. “Take exit 63, it's just ahead, like half a mile." 

The exit came up sooner than Launchpad expected and he turned sharply, skidding onto it, making the exit, but just barely. "Phew. Made it. Anyway, I can get you anywhere you need to go. And..." He glanced at him, smiling softly. "And.. I'm really glad you liked my stuff. That uh...it means a lot, you know."

"No, no! It's great. I mean, sometimes just having somebody, even if it’s a stranger online, who shares this thing that makes you happy, you know?"

"Yeah, you can say that again. Although, having someone who's not a stranger is even better, don't you think? You know, we could hang out sometime if you want. Watch old episodes of DW, just talk about theories and stuff...if you're not too busy with things back in St. Canard, I mean. I know you've probably got a whole life waiting for you back there but...it was really nice hanging out, even for a little while."

"Up here. You can park in that garage on the left, it's free." Drake pointed to an upcoming garage, and they pulled into it. "I mean, if you want, you can come up... it's already sort of late, we could get some takeout and binge and talk Darkwing lore...?"

Launchpad’s parking was only mostly crooked, as he was trying not to cause too much property damage his first time here. He wanted to make a good impression. "Really? I... I wouldn't want to impose..."

But Drake just laughed a little as he got out of the car, tossing the duffel and backpack over his shoulder, he pulled out his suitcase. 

"It's fine. As long as you don't mind twelve flights of stairs! It's my personal endurance training~"

Launchpad just shook his head, taking the heavy suitcase from him like it was a pillow, he tucked it under one arm. "Puh-lease, that's nothing! One of the ancient temples I climbed with Mr. McDee must have had twelve _hundred_ steps...this'll be a walk in the park!"

He grinned at him, holding open the door and nodding toward the steps.

"After you, good buddy."

This earned a wry smile from Drake, who adjusted the bags on his shoulders as they walked up to the apartment building. He swiped a fob to open the door, and it opened out to a dingy foyer. There was an elevator to the right, but it looked disused and off, the door probably rusted shut at this point. The hallway ahead had cracked and peeling paint, the sort of place most would assume to be haunted, but Drake just shrugged as he opened the door to the stairs, flood lit by fluorescent lamps that hummed faintly.

"It's uh, historic,” Drake explained with a shrug. “At least, I’m sure that’s how somebody would sell this place. Anyway. Yeah. Stair training!”

Launchpad followed behind him, still carrying the suitcase tucked under one arm. Even though he had been all over the world on all sorts of adventures, these stairs felt like an adventure all their own. He couldn't help but smile to himself at the idea.

"Is this where you get your famous resilience from? Endurance training?" he joked, as they hustled their way up the stairway.

Panting but determined, his purple-clad companion occasionally leaned on the banister to push himself back up.

"Aw, it’s famous? You’re gonna make me blush! Well, when you take the stairs every day, you can make it your training regimen! If Darkwing Duck can be electrocuted and blown up and defenestrated, I can't let some stairs beat me!" He stopped to catch his breath near the top floor, then pushed himself up the last couple flights, opening the door out to another identical hallway of doors.

Pausing just behind him to catch his breath, Launchpad found himself surprised at how winded he was. He really admired Drake's ability to keep going, no matter what. It was incredible, really. He realized he was staring at him and blushed slightly, trying to find something else to focus on by looking around the building. There wasn't much else to look at.

"I think this place has got a certain charm. It's ah...home-y."

There was a gunshot in the distance and a cacophony of dogs barking, followed shortly by police sirens that faded slowly into the distance.

"I uh- yeah, you could call it that." Drake answered as he led him to the end of the end of the hall, unlocking the door and pushing it open. "Home sweet bachelor pad. Come on in."

It was an average sized single bedroom apartment, but it was clearly the home of a nerd. Framed Darkwing Duck posters lined the walls, and there were a few bare spaces along the shelves, clearly where the stuff he had brought with him to Duckburg had been. There was a modest amount of furniture, a lot of it purple, and a comic book cover print throw draped across the couch. It was a weird nerd cave, but it was home to Drake, who put his bags on the table; it couldn’t really be considered specifically a kitchen or dining room table, as it was the only table, and unzipped his duffel bag.

"Obviously I uh, don't have any food, but we can get some pizza or Chinese, do you want some Pep? I probably still have half a case in the fridge..."

Launchpad tread carefully as he entered, putting the suitcase down slowly by the door. He had been to temples and ancient burial sites but this somehow felt even more like sacred ground. He gazed around at the posters, noting that several were limited edition and nearly impossible to find online. After several seconds of looking around in awe he realized that Drake had asked him a question and he looked at him blankly, blinking several times.

"I uh...yeah, sure! Sorry, it's just..." His eyes lit up. "Your place is so cool! Is that the original promo poster for the Darkwing Duck video game?! They only printed like 25 copies!"

"Huh? Oh, yeah, good eye! My pre-order got cancelled, but they had one on display at the game shop, so I actually convinced one of the employees to sell it to me!"

He pulled a Pep from the fridge and cracked it open, passing it to Launchpad before returning to his bags to begin unpacking his laundry.

"In the bedroom I have the holo version of the season 2 premiere poster, you know, that event where they showed it in theaters? I had to go eight times before they gave me the holo one! It's my favorite one."

"You went to the showing _eight times?!_ That's so...so...awesome! Do you think I could...take a look at it once you've finished unpacking?" He took a sip of the Pep and glanced at what he assumed to be the bedroom door (as the bathroom door was open and it was the only other door in the apartment).

“Oh, where are my hosting manners? Make yourself comfortable! Have a look around if you want! I've got some take out menus on the fridge, if you're hungry for dinner before it gets too late, we should order soon though--" Drake explained as he pulled out a laundry basket from the bedroom and dumped a bunch of his dirty laundry from his luggage into it _._ He stopped when he saw the Darkwing Duck costume amongst the dirty laundry, and reverently lifted it out of his bag. He’d been able to get away with keeping it since the movie had been cancelled, a sort of memento for the brief time when his dream had been real. 

"It gets kind of... dangerous out here at night," he finished.

"Sounds like this town could really use a hero..." Launchpad answered half-heartedly, admiring a shelf of Darkwing Duck figurines. He glanced side-long at Drake. "One who would never give up on them, even if it was dangerous."

"Yeah.... Saint Canard is kind of a mess. Shame Darkwing Duck isn't real, huh?" Drake couldn’t help but laugh a little sadly, shaking his head. "That would be cool."

"Yeah. It would be pretty awesome." He sighed and picked up a few takeout menus, holding them up and offering Drake a smile. It was indeed clear exactly what sort of bachelor life Drake lived, not that he was judging, or disliked it.

"Well, then, what do you think? Chinese or pizza? My treat! After all, you're letting me crash here for the night, it's the least I can do~"

"You know what? I could go for a cheese pizza! Unless you want to get toppings? We'll have to go back down and up all the stairs too." He folded up the costume, leaving it on the table as he continued to unpack, while Launchpad ordered the pizza, practically bouncing with excitement as he surveyed the almost museum-like collection of Darkwing Duck figures, toys, and general paraphernalia. "That's the spirit! Well, hang on to that enthusiasm LP, because training starts in about thirty minutes or it’s free!"

But Launchpad was still bouncing excitedly, gleefully looking around the small apartment. "So are you gonna give me the tour, or what?"

"Sure! Uhhh, welcome to my super-cool hideout! Wait, wait, wait, let me start over. I’ll make it exciting,” Drake stopped himself, clearing his throat.

He then slid over to the door, pretending he was talking to an imaginary documentary crew, as if he was being interviewed for the next big behind-the-scenes production.

"Welcome to my super secret lair, home of the mysterious Darkwing Duck! Here, you'll find the dining slash kitchen table, which currently uh, is where I’m unpacking."

He then slid dramatically over to the tiny kitchen, pretending to flourish a cape.

"And here is the place where I fuel up, making secret concoctions, mostly cereal or Mac and cheese. I am kind of, sort of, trying to learn to make smoke bombs too. Always rinse the coffee pot before you use it, it’s not just for coffee. Anyway!"

Side-stepping as to never turn his back on the imaginary camera crew, he then slid back into the living room space, posing.

"This is the super special lounge, and exhibit of memorabilia related to the terror that flaps in the night! I've got all the DVDs, even the banned episodes, and script binders! They’re labelled and highlighted, and there’s a shelf of the comics in order by release date over here.” 

With a quick few more steps, the actor led Launchpad into the bedroom, turning around with a grand gesture. “And this is uh, the resting place! The bedroom is where I dream up clever schemes and plans to thwart evil! Also here's a shelf of my favorite toys and action figures. There’s also a bathroom over here to the right. Thanks for coming to my tour, if you wish to exit please do so through the gift shop, and thanks for visiting!"

Launchpad oooh'd and aaah'd appropriately, clapping his hands and cheering genuinely at the impressive collection of memorabilia. He paused at a shelf that held several framed pictures and picked one up. It was a signed portrait of Jim Starling, the now-deceased original actor for Darkwing Duck. He sighed, holding it up.

"You know, I never did get that autograph. I kept fainting every time I met him...that probably seems pretty silly, huh?"

Drake could understand totally choking up upon meeting your hero though. He’d almost told Jim he wanted to keep him in a jar in his closet! That would have been SUPER weird! "You can have it, if you want. You always went to the signings; you were his biggest fan. He was my hero, but I feel like I somehow let him down... in the end, you know? You deserve it."

Launchpad looked at him in shock. He held the picture out like it was a forbidden artifact that he had snatched off of a pedestal.

"No, I couldn't! I mean...it's not like you can get another one and... besides, if anyone let him down it was me." He frowned at the picture sadly.

"Nah! Take it! I have a massive collection. And you tried to do right by him until the end. That's all anybody can ask. I bet that's all one could ask of a hero."

"Drake I... I don't know what to say... “ He took the frame and retreated to the living room, where he sat with it on the couch, tears suddenly threatening at his eyes as he lamented the fateful encounter they had with Jim. As far as they knew, he was gone. "He said I was his sidekick that day. I should have done more, I should have seen it, I wrote all those fics, why couldn't I get through to him when it mattered?”

Drake lingered in the doorway for a moment, pacing over to sit down on the couch next to him. He hesitated, but then put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "I don't know, but you tried, right? In the moment, maybe... I don't know... he saw the stars, and the glory of being a star again, and it blinded him. We'll never know now. It stung, not having that closure, but he’s gone now. Life doesn’t always have that closure. The best we can do is get back up.'"

Launchpad sat up, tears just starting to prick at his eyes, and opened his mouth to say something but he was interrupted by an 8-bit version of the Darkwing Duck theme song. His ringtone. He dug it out of his pocket, sniffled, and answered it.

The pizza was downstairs. Twelve flights down and back. Not that either of them expected any delivery guy to make that ascent. He hung up the phone and wiped his eyes on his sleeve, glancing at Drake apologetically. "The uh, the pizza's here. Ready for training?"

Drake shot him a thumbs up. "Gotta make it back before it gets cold!"

This earned him a small grin. Launchpad picked up the frame carefully, running his thumb over it and placing it on the coffee table like a sacred object before standing up. "That sounds like a challenge. Do you think we're up for it?"

Drake cracked his knuckles and grabbed the lanyard with his keys off of a hook next to the door. "Let's go!"

Reinvigorated by Drake’s passion, Launchpad nodded, a look of determination set on his face. He raised his arm and pointed toward the stairs. "For the pizza!"

Locking the door behind them, Drake jogged after him, then bounded over the railing of the stairs at the landing, landing halfway down to the floor below. He did a completely unnecessary little flourish, passing by Launchpad after his second jump down. "Ha-hah! Come on, LP!"

Launchpad stared after him for half a moment in surprise, then laughed loudly, taking the steps two at a time to catch up. "Right behind you!"

"Awesome! You got this! See you at the bottom!" Drake’s voice echoed up the stairwell. 

He rushed down the stairs, enjoying his usual tricks, but it really did feel different having someone to share them with. Something about rushing down a cement stairwell flooded with jarring fluorescent lights, not being so alone while just being goofy and theatrical, sliding down the banister and playing hero.

Was he just being an overgrown kid? Maybe, but at the same time, he didn't feel like Launchpad judged him for it. If anything, Launchpad indulged him. It was comforting.

Behind him, Launchpad skidded down the last step, stumbled, and crashed into the wall at the bottom of the stairwell, rubbing his head. "Ah, didn't quite stick the landing. You make it look so easy!"

"Years of practice! I spent a lot of time uh, trying to copy all the moves from the show and in the comics. You don't think it's cheesy?"

"What? No! It's super cool! You've definitely got the moves down. No wonder they cast you in that movie! You move just like the real thing!" Launchpad wasn’t trying to butter Drake up, either. He really did think it was awesome. If there was someone cut out for the role of that daring duck of mystery, he knew it was Drake Mallard.

He paid for the pizza, tipping the Pizza Planet delivery duck well, noting with some pride that the boxes were warm. He grinned at Drake and hefted them. "Still warm! Mission successful!"

Drake was a little glad that Launchpad was busy focusing on the pizza when a blush of embarrassment dusted his cheeks. It truly was a high compliment. "Not yet! It'll be a success if we make it back up before it gets cold!"

He nodded, handing one of the boxes to Drake and straightening his cap _._ "Let's do this." 

Launchpad was careful not to tip the box over as he leapt up the stairs; taking them two, sometimes three at a time, pausing at the first landing to lean against the bannister and catch his breath. How many times a day did Drake do this? He really must be in shape!

Beside him, Drake tried to keep the box level as he bounded up the stairs, skipping every other step. Maybe their cheesy reward would be all that much sweeter if they earned it. Twelve flights of stairs sweeter. Well, not sweeter, tastier, probably! Endurance training felt so much better with Launchpad here. When they finally made it back to the top, he could feel his calves burning and his breath was ragged as he unlocked the door. "That was... a rush! Oh man, let me get us some Pep, that really was some endurance training!"

"Haha, yeah! We really earned this pizza!" He set it down on the table and opened it, checking to make sure it had survived the trip. "And look! Still warm, even! We definitely need a round of victory Pep!"

Drake obliged, fetching some plates from the kitchen and served them both pizza and Pep, then flopped back down on the couch _._ "You know, I uh, I owe you a thank you for bringing me home, but also for coming up here with me..."

He stared into his soda for a minute, watching the bubbles float to the surface from the bottom of the can.

"Not to be melodramatic, but I mean, I'm sort of coming back from Duckburg a loser. I thought I was getting out of this city. I got really lucky at an audition for the movie. McDuck enterprises didn't want to pay a big name actor. It was actually my first part. My debut. I tried my hand at being Darkwing for real with the Moonlander invasion, but I was totally in over my head. Out of my league.” He laughed a little, but there was a sad tone to it. 

“I was at that big earth defense meeting, and I didn’t know any of those people, but still! I stuck to the plan, even helped Scrooge break into his own house with my extra cool stealth skills, and I got the snot beat out of me! Not that I haven’t trained myself to handle it, it was a wake up call. I wanted to inspire people! Make a difference! And Duckburg already has that Gizmoduck to save the day, and it’s not like hero work will pay the bills. I’m just... I haven't really been able to keep a steady job since, so I was coming home kinda... low on funds, and you know, just back to being that weird nerd that nobody likes."

Nobody likes...? Launchpad _had_ to refute that part! "You're kidding! You've gotta be the most likable guy I've ever met, and I know _tons_ of guys!" He took a bite of his pizza, chewing thoughtfully. He swallowed and took a swig of his Pep before tilting his head at Drake.

"There aren't any jobs here in St. Canard you could do? You've got a great skill set!"

"Well, I'll probably go back to uhhh, well, my last job. Clerking at the comic shop. It's not heroic, but it got me this place." He shrugs. "Actually, you're really cool. You're a pilot! And you wrote my favorite fics, you know so much about DW lore, and you ended up not being a total snob like a lot of the comic fans are! Your fics really.... kept me going too. So yeah. Thanks."

"It... really meant that much to you?" Launchpad was truly touched. His fanfiction had helped him work out his own stress; he'd never dreamed it would help anyone else! Nobody had ever even bothered to read it before. At least, nobody he'd met in person.

"Say, I know you don't want to do the hero thing for real, but why don't you put the costume on, just for tonight? We can watch some of our favorite episodes, enjoy the heck out of this pizza, and just really live up the good times before you gotta get back to your regular day to day! What do you say? One more night in the cape, just to honor Jim's memory?"

Drake considered this, then glanced to the picture on the table and nodded. "Yeah... we can... say goodbye to him together." 

Launchpad pumped his fists in the air and cheered. "Yes! A victory for justice! Go get changed, quick! The night is yet young!"

He gathered the costume from the table, and retreated to the bedroom to change. Something felt different this time.

Like it was... _heavier._

There wasn’t a way to describe the feeling, but he knew that it wasn’t the same as dressing up as he always had. He paused, staring down himself in the mirror before tying the mask. Maybe it really was that he hadn't really had a chance to say goodbye to Jim.

His hero.

He took up the hat, wrapping the cape around his shoulders as he snuck back to the doorway.

"I am the terror that flaps in the night! I am the ugly ingrown toenail on the foot of crime! I am Darkwing Duck!"

Launchpad watched him go, then settled back into the couch with a sigh, picking up the framed picture that Drake had given him and giving it a long, hard look. Jim was gone. There wasn't anything that could bring his hero, the original Darkwing Duck, back to life. But even so...

Drake was so _GOOD_ at being Darkwing! He was a natural at it! He was brave and resilient and never gave up, no matter how many times he was knocked down. Why couldn't he see it? Nobody else would ever be able to fill Jim's shoes like that.

Oh well, it wasn’t as though he could force him to be a hero. At least he was lucky enough to hang out with him tonight. He looked up as he, the terror himself, appeared in the doorway and felt his heart tugged even harder as his thoughts manifested before him. He grinned broadly.

"Nice dramatic entrance! You really are the spitting image of the man himself!"

Breaking character, Drake beamed at the compliment. "Really? If only we just had some smoke bombs! Or how about this!"

He struck a pose.

"I am the terror that flaps in the night! I am the untitled extra fee on your credit card bill! I am Darkwiiiing Duck!"

Launchpad laughed. "That's great! Oh! Wait a minute...." He patted his jacket, then reached into his chest pocket, pulling out a handful of tiny smoke bombs.

"I almost forgot! Webby makes all of us carry a handful of these for...uhhh...tactical purposes."

He handed them to Drake, grinning, then sat back on the couch, watching eagerly. "Go on, do another!"

"You just carry around smoke bombs? I need to know more about your adventures sometime! Okay, okay, just a second!" He rushed back out of the room, then entered with a burst of smoke and a flourish.

"I am the terror that flaps in the night! I am the permanent marker on the whiteboard of crime! I am Darkwiiing Duck!"

Launchpad watched him, wide-eyed, and absolutely enraptured. This was a thousand times better than any movie. It was like his hero had come to life right before his eyes. "Incredible!"

"Was that a good one? I have a whole list actually... I wrote down a bunch. I am the puddle that soaks your sock, I am the pebble in the shoe, the Lego on the carpet, an awful lot of feet related ones for some reason... "

"Dude..." He took a long sip of his Pep and then set it on the coffee table before leveling his gaze at Drake evenly, as though he had some sage wisdom to impart. "Show. Me. All. Of. Them."

"All of them? Uh, sure! I don't want to waste all your smoke bombs, hold on... let me uh..."

He shuffled a bit, gathering his cape back up in an awkward attempt to reset. "I am the terror that flaps in the night! I am the rash from the wool sweater you got for Christmas! I am Darkwing Duck!"

He repeated this several times, trying new poses and catch phrases, many of which he created himself. "What about you? Got any requests?"

"Oh! What about that one from the Halloween special with Quackerjack? Remember that episode, the two-parter? I always loved that one, DW's big entrance always stuck with me, where he bursts out of the pumpkin..."

"Oh! Oh! Okay, hold on! Let me eh, get the entrance ready," Drake climbed over the couch awkwardly, pausing to straighten his hat, then popped up dramatically, holding out his cape like giant purple and pink wings _._

"I am the terror that flaps in the night! I am the trick amidst the treats of villainy! I am! Darkwiiiing Duck!" He stood on the back of the couch dramatically, then sank into the seat next to Launchpad, balling his fists excitedly. Despite the fact that they were just playing around, he couldn’t stop grinning. "This is so much fun! Oh my gosh! What else do you wanna do?"

"Should we put on some episodes? Or we could play a few rounds of the Darkwing Duck video game? Or...oh, do you have a copy of the live action Japanese adaptation they did? I heard it was terrible but I've never seen it..." He rubbed the back of his head and grinned sheepishly. "Honestly I feel like anything we do will be...right."

This prompted Drake to bounce off of the couch and rummage through a box near the TV until he pulled out a VHS and a three ring binder. "Oh! You've never seen the live action? I have a bootleg! It's recorded off of TV in Japan though, so there's commercials for lotion and Pocky and video games on watches in the middle, also there's no subtitles, but I printed out a copy of an online fan translation of the script we could follow along from?"   
_  
_ Drake continued. "It's kind of weird, they tried to add extra lore, like an angsty backstory and a samurai warrior daughter, and at one point he gets reverse-shrunk, not enlarged, mind you, reverse-shrunk, and has a fist fight with not-Gojira… literally, it’s called Gojira-janai...still, it’s kinda fun? It’s fun to watch, and I don’t know, I just like it..." He caught himself in the middle of his ramble, not sure if he was being over the top or not. He just really, really loved Darkwing Duck, and he was beyond elated to have someone to share it with.

Launchpad smiled and grabbed another slice of pizza, settling back into the couch with a huge grin still plastered on his face. "That sounds absolutely perfect."

He took a bite of the pizza, then was about to ask Drake about the story of where he recorded the bootleg from when the lights went out, plunging the apartment into darkness. He swallowed his bite of pizza and set the slice down, squinting in what little dim light from the street shone through the window. "Or we could do it in the dark too. Nice. Atmospheric."

Drake shuffled around in the dark for his phone for a few seconds, before grabbing it and turning on the flashlight. "Ugh, I bet a fuse blew. There's a circuit breaker on the roof, but if it did, the electric fob lock on the roof door isn't going to work, either. I usually just climb the fire escape at this hour to get it...." He pocketed his phone before making his way to the window, pushing it open. "Hey, do you mind giving me a boost?"

"Sure thing!" Launchpad followed him to the window, where he easily lifted Drake up, boosting him until he could find footing. "How's that?"

"Whoa, yeah, hold on!" Drake wobbled for a second, carefully pushing his feet up onto Launchpad’s shoulders, taking care not to kick him in the face as he pulled himself up and reached as far as he could onto the roof. Extending his arms upward, he managed to grab one of the decorative iron bars that lined the roof.

"Okay... let's try…” Hoisting himself, Drake practically tumbled over the edge and into the bushes of the tiny garden on the rooftop. He felt the squelch of the wet mulch and soft vegetables giving way beneath his weight. "Ow, sorry Mrs. Parker... I might be squashing your zucchinis..." He grumbled.

Launchpad leaned halfway out of the window, looking up anxiously. "Be careful! Uh..." He looked around briefly, then back up. "What should I do? Do you need help?"

"Uh, maybe? It sounds like there's somebody up here...nobody ever comes up here at night." He got up, dusting off the dirt and leaves, awkwardly trying to climb out of the tiny garden. He could hear an odd buzzing and crackling of electricity, and see a soft blue glow around the corner. A bunch of thick cables were stretched across the roof, connecting the building to both the adjacent ones.

That sounded worrying. Launchpad wasn't about to let his new friend face some unknown danger alone! He climbed out onto the windowsill, gauging the distance carefully before leaping up onto the fire escape and grabbing onto it.

Luckily, he caught it.

Unluckily, his weight was too much for the rusty old bolts that secured the metal to the crumbling apartment building, and they were twelve floors up. As it slowly creaked its way away from the building he did the only thing he could think of and jumped onto the thick wire that dangled from the roof and shimmied up it, watching as the fire escape crashed to the ground below. As he hauled himself over the ledge to safety, completely out of breath, the wire came loose, slipping out of his grasp and sliding off the roof. He watched it wriggle over the edge like an irate serpent and turned to Drake, shrugging at him and gesturing over his shoulder.

"I hope that wasn't anything important."

Drake glanced back, noticing that the lights in the building next door flickered back on. "Well uh, if it fell that easy, maybe it wasn't all that safe... talk about getting dangerous!” But the lights came on _after_ the wire was unplugged? That part was a bit strange. 

An irritated, nasally voice that he didn't recognize piped up. "Who's there? What do you want?"

"Who are you, and what are you doing on the roof?" Drake shot back, pulling some stray leaves off of his hat. He felt a little silly, fumbling around here in the dark, still dressed up as Darkwing Duck, but everything about this whole situation was a little silly.

After all, a strange rat had erected? Built? Placed? A massive machine on the roof of his apartment building, and was now standing in front of it, silhouetted by the blue light of the electricity crackling off of the top of it. 

He sort of resembled a supervillain.

"I asked you first!"

"I asked you second! But um, if you really want an introduction!" It was cheesier than the pizza they were eating earlier, but Drake decided he might as well confront him Darkwing Duck style. It could be fun! He slid into the light with a flourish, just as he had practiced hundreds of times. "I am the terror that flaps in the night! I am the freak storm that soaks your clean laundry! I am Darkwing Duck!"

"Darka whosa?" The stranger sputtered. "Like the... superhero?"

"Well, uh, not important! What is important is that you're stealing an awful lot of power, for that uh... why are you stealing power? Is that what you’re doing? And on this side of town? Really? I mean, it’s kind of a weird place to set up your weird machine..." He cleared his throat. Now, this was awkward. 

Launchpad got up and brushed himself off, hurrying to Drake's side. "Yeah! You tell'em, DW!" He added. He leaned over toward him slightly and whispered "Nice entrance!" and gave him a sly thumbs up before addressing the mysterious figure before them.

"You can't just go around stealing power from innocent townspeople! Just who do you think you are, anyway?"

"I am Megavolt! Saint Canard's most dangerous supervillain! And I can steal from whoever I want to power my nefarious devices!"

"Yeah, that seems pretty standard supervillain fare--wait, what!” Drake stopped abruptly. Really? Megavolt? He couldn’t even hide his surprise. “Megavolt? Like the actual comic supervillai-- I mean, no! It sounds like your scheme has some real voltage drop!"

"You're really new to this punny banter, huh."

"I've uh, yeah this is the first time-- uh… give me some material to work with here."

“A monologue? Yeah, I can do one--” The one who called himself Megavolt cleared his throat. “This is a super-generator! It’s my own invention, better than a generator, I call it the Zapp-O-Tronic! It converts electricity to a compressed state, which I will use to bring appliances to life, and they will take over the city, rebelling against their masters! Too long, they have been oppressed, and the war of the machines will be upon us! Mwahahahaha!!-ahem, yeah.”

Drake was trying to draw the conversation out to fill time, looking around the roof for anything he could use. He didn't actually know how to face off with a supervillain!

Launchpad caught sight of a large, ominous-looking switch labeled "POLARITY", which gave him an idea. He nudged Drake and nodded subtly toward the switch.

"You got any more of those smoke bombs left? Why don't you make another dramatic entrance? I was thinking you could try...episode thirty-two?" He winked at him and smiled.

"Oh?” Drake blinked at him blankly for a second, before it dawned on him. “Oh yeah!"

He flicked the smoke bomb and rolled it over towards the villain, where it burst in a cloud of blue smoke. He pulled the cape close to his shoulders, creeping through the cloud while Megavolt coughed, throwing the switch. He tried to unplug one of the cords, but it zapped him, sending a shockwave of electricity though his body, leaving his fingertips vibrating, and he coughed out a tiny black ring.

"They make it look so much easier on TV," He grumbled, steadying himself on his feet, wobbling but not quite falling over.

"Ha! You didn't accomplish anything! Watch, I'll show you the might of my electrifying Zapp-O-Tronic!"

But Megavolt didn't get to finish his grandiose announcement after turning the ON key, as with a loud hum the machine powered up and burst into a cloud of sparks, smoke, and debris, sending everyone flying.

"I've got to stop putting Reverse switches on thiiiingss!!" Megavolt shouted as he was blown away by the shockwave in a cartoonish arc that sent him flying. 

The crash was loud, but no one in the surrounding area seemed to respond to it. Somewhere below a car alarm was blaring, but it sounded faint after the volume of the small explosion.

The night air fell still, a gentle breeze blowing across the rooftops.

Drake wasn't sure how long he was unconscious on the concrete roof, he hoped only a few seconds had passed. The world slowly blurred back to reality, and he coughed, sitting up slowly. The lights were back on in the surrounding buildings, and as he realized this, he rushed to his feet _._

"Launchpad! LP! Hey buddy, you okay?"

Launchpad coughed, sitting up slowly and rubbing his head. "Oof, now that's what I call a crash landing. Hey, what happened?! Did we win?"

"Wow, you actually pulled it off! You're a real hero! Ow...." He put a hand to his head. It felt sort of wobbly.

"I think we did? That was great thinking! But what about you? Are you okay?"

He extended a hand to help Launchpad up. He was scratched up and a bit singed, but smiling.

"Yeah, I think so? I've crashed harder than that before and walked it off..." Launchpad stood up, a little worse for wear but still in one piece and smiling broadly, all beaming with fanboy pride. "Can we believe we just fought off a _real_ supervillain? He had puns and _everything_!"

"I know, right? That was sooooo cool! Snappy banter and a big explosion and everything! Wow! Wow!" Despite the fact that they had probably both just narrowly avoided serious concussions, and only luck prevented them from causing serious property damage, he was bouncing excitedly _._ "That was the coolest!"

" _You're_ the coolest!" Launchpad put his hand on Drake's shoulder and looked out over the city. St. Canard lay beneath a blanket of moonlight, a dazzling peppering of lights twinkling beneath them.

"Look at it, Drake. A whole city in need of a hero. _You_ could be that hero! Who knows how many villains are lurking out there in the darkness, with no terror to flap in the night?"

He gazed out at the city lights, shaking some ash off of his hat. It was his home. "I.... you really think so? You really think we could make Darkwing Duck... _real?_ "

"I think you've already made him real to me. Now you just have to share him with the rest of the world. Or at least...with the city. Keep St. Canard safe. Keep Jim's legacy alive, and even better, create your own. After all, that's what a hero would do, right?"

Drake watched the lights of cars below them, and the shifting lights of neon signs and billboards in the distance. He turned to look at Launchpad, surprised, hopeful, and his heart awash with confusing emotions _._

"Thank you... I think that means a lot. I... I'll try. You're right. Heh. Just like those cool speeches. The hope that flaps in the night, and always gets back up! Hope and justice are always worth fighting for!" He tried to pose again, and fell backwards, exhausted. "Okay, maybe...maybe after some first aid and some sleep."

"Yeah, hero work really takes it out of you..." Launchpad collapsed next to him and laid down, laughing as he gazed up at the stars. "Drake Mallard...never heard of him. Does make for a good secret identity, I’m just saying," He glanced his way, blushing in the darkness. "You know, this whole night has been...an adventure. The best adventure I've been on in a while."

"Yeah," Drake breathed a sigh of genuine relief. He gazed up at the stars, thanking them in his heart for this night. "But really? You’re sure about that? The _best_ adventure? Better than exploring sunken pirate ships or crashing a plane in Tibet or any of that other stuff you've done? I mean, cement stairwells aren't as cool as booby trapped ancient temples..."

"They are when I'm with you…” He blushed deeper in the darkness as soon as the words left his mouth. "I mean, er, those adventures were...they weren't really _my_ adventures. Those were Mr. McDee's or someone else's. But this...this is just for us. It's different. It's...special."

Drake immediately tried to swallow the emotions that bubbled up in his throat. They were overwhelming and sticky and confusing.

"Well you're um! You're welcome to stay a few days. Or however long. I mean, if you want! It would be cool to uh, have more adventures. Or something.” He swallowed, grateful the darkness hid the blush that was creeping up to his face. 

Launchpad was quiet for a moment, trying to process the swirling emotions that were battling inside of him. Finally, he took a deep breath, and after a long pause, he spoke.

"Uh, hey Drake, can I ask you something?"

"Sure, ask away," He answered, enjoying the moment.

He sat up slowly and looked around.

"I mean don't get me wrong, I'd love to stay for a while and I don't really have anything else going on right now so I'm totally free, but...uh...the thing is...how exactly are we going to get down off the roof?"

Drake’s eyes shot open and he stared at the sky for a long, horrified moment. "I mean... after I flip the breaker we can go back in through the regular hallway door, it’s sort of broken anyway, but then we have to go back down the hall to get back to my apartment..."

"All the way at the end, right?" Launchpad asked, shivering against the wind that blew between the surrounding buildings. Even with his thick jacket the roof was chilly. "It's a good thing the door wasn't jammed shut when that thing exploded, or we'd be in a real pickle, huh?"

"Yeah... haha, guess so," his companion mumbled, forcing himself to sit up, he dragged himself over to the breaker box. "Looks okay enough... I guess we both could use a shower and some sleep."

"Agreed. I think we've had enough danger for _one_ night.” Launchpad answered, rubbing his head, which was still a bit sore, and put his arm around Drake, helping him to the door since he looked a bit unsteady. "Let's get...home for the night."

"Yeah... thanks."

As they made their way back down the hall, Drake prayed no one was awake. Partially because he didn't want to explain himself and partially because he had a feeling somebody might think he was a burglar. In front of his door, he fumbled through his pockets looking for his keys. He finally found them, and was partway through unlocking the door when the door to the left behind him creaked open.

"Oh, Mr. Mallard, you're back."

He froze. It was a familiar old lady's voice.

"Yes, Mrs. Parker, I'm back."

"I hope you had lots of fun in Duckburg! Oh and you're dressed up! Is it Comic Con time again?"

"Uh... it's almost time, yeah. This was a... a practice run."

"Oh, that's nice, dearie. You know, cousin Edgar loves Comic Con too! You should go with him this year..."

"Yes, Mrs. Parker, you know, it's awfully late, I'm just gonna go..."

He pushed the door open, ushering Launchpad inside.

"Okay, I'm growing some lovely zucchini on the roof, I'll bring over some frittata next time you have your Comic Con friends over."

"Yup, yup, yup, sounds great. Good Night, Mrs. Parker!" He slunk inside, closed the door, and locked it behind them, sinking down against it. "Sorry...about that..."

Launchpad chuckled _._ "She seemed nice enough."

He noticed how exhausted Drake was, slumped against the door, and he reached down, scooping him into his arms and carrying him into the bedroom. He was pretty tired himself, but first he carefully deposited Drake on his bed and took off his enormous purple hat, hanging it on the door handle to the closet.

As for Drake, being scooped up in Launchpad's arms, he was too tired to protest, and besides... he felt... safe. It was a comforting sort of safety, that he was vulnerable in that moment, but somehow everything would be okay. Once deposited on his bed, he blearily took off the cape and top half of his costume, pulling on a tee shirt from a pile of laundry that lay discarded nearby.

"Do you want me to bring you anything before I go and crash out on the couch? Anything at all?" Launchpad offered, lingering in the doorway.

"Mmmh, I'll be okay, thanks... you too. There's some blankets in the hall closet... you can get dangerously comfortable or something."

"I'll be just fine; I can crash anywhere. Trust me.”

True to his word, Launchpad crashed almost as soon as he hit the couch, even without blankets (he was far too exhausted to bother with them) and was soon sound asleep, sprawled over the cushions with his feet hanging off the side of the couch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I promise that a good chunk of this fic is already written, and it's very slow burn. We haven't written fic in many, many years, and this story is purely self-indulgent. See you next episode! ~ Rai & Mur


	2. Let's Get Gardening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this episode, our heroes do some adulting and bumble their way through an encounter with a sort-of villainous villain as they continue to find their footing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warnings - this chapter contains the following: Gun (not fired but there is one), mentions of/implied offscreen police brutality, first aid.

Drake slept until it was nearly noon, grumbling as the sun hit his face and he rolled over to check his phone. He felt sore and exhausted...and in serious need of a shower.

He dragged himself to the bathroom, running himself through his usual morning hygiene rituals and scrubbing off all of the soot from the previous night. He dressed and headed to the kitchen to enjoy a true bachelor’s breakfast of flat Pep and cold pizza.

Meanwhile, Launchpad McQuack woke up confused when he saw the off-white popcorn ceiling above him. He sat up blearily, aching in all the wrong places. Despite the soreness, he felt...good. Relaxed. 

Yet, in his groggy, hypnagogic state of mind he internally panicked for a few seconds, forgetting where he was. "This isn't the Sunchaser...?" He rubbed his eyes and looked up at the stark gold and violet tones of the special edition Darkwing Duck posters on the wall and his anxiety faded away as he heard the oddly comforting sounds of Drake bustling around in the kitchen behind him. 

"Oh, yeah, that’s right..." He noticed the sun was already up and stretched, yawning. "Jeez, how long was I out for?"

"Uh, not much longer than me. Do you want some cold pizza? I can throw it in the microwave if you want it warm..." Drake asked, pulling out some paper plates.

"Oh! Uh, cold is fine. Cold pizza is the breakfast of champions." He grabbed a slice and munched on it with slow, casual bites, taking the time to sweep his gaze around the apartment and appreciate Drake’s unique and very purple aesthetic. "Last night was really something, huh? You were really cool up there."

Drake just looked at his slice pensively, and returned the pizza box to the fridge. "Kinda feels like it was a dream, huh? Wow... I mean, you're here, so I guess I didn't dream it all."

Launchpad rubbed his head, which was still a bit sore from the explosion. He hoped he didn’t have a ‘conclusion’, or whatever it was the nice nurse at the emergency room usually told him he had after a particularly nasty crash. He _extra_ hoped he didn’t have one because he was happy to be here, and being here sounded way more fun than going to the emergency room. 

"It doesn't feel like a dream to me. Well, a dream come _true_ maybe. Watching you out there, it was like...it was like when I was a kid and I wanted to help DW fight off a villain for real...and now here he is, right in front of me! Here _you_ are!" He sat back on the couch, picking at his pizza as he explained. "Gee, you know, it's too bad DW never had a sidekick. I used to pretend he did. Back when I was a kid. I used to watch every new episode hoping they would give him one, because I always worried about him fighting all by himself..."

Drake stretched, then set about loading up his laundry basket from his suitcase. "Yeah, he always was sort of the lone wolf type, and that got him into trouble sometimes…but you know what? I think we make a great team."

Launchpad watched him load up his laundry basket and looked down at his own clothes, which were still coated in grime and soot from the roof. "Oh, gross. Jeez, I don't think I brought any spare clothes with me..."

"Well um, I might have something you can wear while we do laundry? I was thinking of heading to the laundromat and doing some errands anyway." Drake said as he rummaged through the hall closet, pulling down a large sweatshirt from the top shelf, smiling to himself.

"Here. Comic Expo 2016, by the time I got to the front of the line, all the regular sizes were sold out, so I hope this is okay? I'm a trim small-medium, so I never wore it."

Launchpad lit up when he saw it. "No way! They were all out of my size that year, so I ended up getting a small and giving it to Dewey..." He laughed, accepting it gratefully and heading toward the bathroom. "So, thanks! I'm gonna hop in the shower real quick before we do laundry, then, if you don't mind waiting?"

With that, he vanished into the bathroom. Shortly after, the clattering sound of several things being knocked over and hastily picked back up could be heard from within.

In the meantime, Drake gathered up the rest of his clothes, then dumped them on top of the dirty Darkwing Duck outfit in his laundry basket, and gathered up his grocery bags, jotting down a quick shopping list while Launchpad was in the shower.

Stepping out of the bathroom, dirty clothes bundled under his arm, Launchpad made an awkward gesture to the flimsy towel rack that now hung in shambles from one sad screw _._

"Uhhhh I can fix that. Sorry."

"Huh? Oh! Uh, yeah it's fine. A lot of stuff in this building breaks easily. Comes with being ‘historic,’ I guess. Are you ready for some training, _laundry style_?" He punctuated the word historic with finger quotes, but still smirked, grabbing his keys.

Launchpad nodded, tossed his laundry in the basket and lifted it up onto his shoulder, a determined expression on his face. "These errands don't stand a chance. Let's do this!"

"That's the spirit! Let's get adulting!" Drake announced, punching the air dramatically.

Back down the stairs they headed yet again, grocery bags and laundry in tow. Drake was still sore from the previous night, but filled with a delighted, renewed vigor; there was something new, some spark of excitement that came with being around Launchpad. It only fueled his motivation further. Even as he sat on top of the washer at the laundromat and scrolled job postings on his phone, he couldn't think of a name for this feeling. "Um, Launchpad? If we're going to do this for real... where do we start?"

"Oh...uh...?" Launchpad looked up from the old Darkwing Duck comics he was reading on his phone, and pulled out a notepad he usually kept stashed in his jacket for things he didn’t want to forget next time he had a ‘conclusion.’ "Well...every superhero needs three things, right? A secret identity! Check. An arch nemesis, well, that will come with time, right? And... a secret lair! We gotta fix your place up, turn it into a real lurking ground for the terror that flaps in the night, give you a place to store all your cool hero stuff."

"Hmmmm, and speaking of villains, that guy from last night, he seemed just like Megavolt, even looked and sounded exactly like him! Ohmygosh, it’s so cool that we even saw a villain just like one of DW’s villains!” He held back a chuckle of delight. “Okay, okay, gotta… gotta be professional though. If villains are taking it seriously, so should we! But that's another thing! It's not like the supervillains will just come to us either. We gotta get intel! If a villain as dastardly and devious as that dimbulb Megavolt is around, we have to be on our toes! Especially if he comes back!” Drake watched the clothes spin in the washers for a while, mulling it over. "We would need a way to map out the whole city..."

Launchpad had no clue how to do such a thing. His head still ached vaguely from earlier, and he was seriously considering asking Drake if he wanted to grab some coffee after they were done with the laundry.

Was that what a hero would do?

_Come on, stay focused LP!_

His train of thought was derailed by the sudden trilling beep of the washing machine. The clothes were ready for the dryer.

Drake’s voice pulled his attention back to the conversation. "I don't know. We would have to find a way to get around the whole city, looking for clues and mapping out potential locations without spending all our money on bus fare or looking super suspicious." Drake shrugged, pulling his wet clothes out of the washer, separating out his costume and Launchpad's coat, and dumping the rest into the dryer, he noticed the pensive look on Launchpad’s face. "Hey, are you okay?"

"Huh? Oh yeah, I'm fine. Still a little tired, I think." He tilted his head, considering _._ "How do we go all around the city without paying, but also without breaking the law...?"

"Yeah, I got nothing. Who else does that? Paper Boys? But newspapers are going out of style these days..." Drake shrugged, watching their clothes tumble in the dryer. "Besides, I wouldn't want to be a paper boy, the city stinks too bad, you know?"

"It does? Doesn't this city have like a...a..." He looked at Drake, an idea dancing just beyond the edge of realization. "...a...garbage truck...?"

Drake glanced down at his phone, scrolling idly for a few moments without bothering to actually read any of the words on his screen. "Hey! That's it!" He perked up. "A garbage truck! We can clean up the city, and map things out to _clean up_ the city!"

"Hey! Yeah! I could totally drive a garbage truck!" He clapped Drake on the back heartily. "Great idea! I knew you'd come up with something!"

"It was kind of your idea, but yes, exactly! Besides, I bet throwing trash bags would be great training, too!" Drake made a motion with his arm as if he were flexing his biceps, showing off. 

"Haha, I guess you're right, in a way it's a sort of endurance training too, getting used to the stink! It's perfect!" Launchpad grinned eagerly, clearly not put off at all by the idea of spending all day around garbage, as long as he could do it by Drake's side, in the pursuit of justice.

"Yes! Exactly! Oh my gosh, I never thought I would be excited to pick up trash." Drake chuckled to himself as he started folding his laundry back into the basket _._ “I'll research how to get a permit for one."

"Sounds like a plan! You know, I'm pretty handy, I fix the Sunchaser up all the time. If you got any tools layin’ around I could start fixin’ your place up, getting it in top condition! It'll keep me busy while you gather intel for the mission!"

"I uh... I have all the parts and tools left over from building my Ikea furniture? They say they only include everything you need, but I always end up with leftover pieces. But my place doesn’t really feel like… you know, _secret lair_ material. Not to mention, renovating the place would totally violate my lease."

"Ah yes, flat pack furniture truly is one of life's great mysteries." Launchpad mused sagely. After a beat, he put one hand on his hip and struck a pose, raising the other in the air dramatically _._ "But not to worry, just leave it to me! I'll have that place in tip top secret lair condition lickety-split or my name isn't Launchpad McQuack!"

"Okay, but we’ll still look for a better place for a secret lair in the meantime," Drake couldn’t help but smile as he picked up the laundry basket. "You know, I thought getting the role of DW for some B movie that never got made was the coolest thing that ever happened to me, but this is even cooler."

Launchpad searched his face, not even entirely sure what he was looking for. There was something about this little adventure that had sparked a pilot flame in him. Something that whispered to him that there was so, so much more that could happen if they continued down this road; this was an adventure, but it was one where they had a chance to make a real difference in this city. "I think I know what you mean. I was just hoping to catch you to say goodbye but now...this is so exciting!"

He beamed at him, then softened a bit. "Hey, thanks again for...including me. I mean, letting me crash here and stuff. You didn't have to do that. But...I'm glad you did."

"Actually, I'm glad you came! I mean, I probably would've just sulked and gone to bed and woken up to a power outage. No dressing up or thwarting crime...? At least, I think it was crime; he was dressed up as Megavolt and did the supervillain monologue and laugh and everything. But as for me, I just would've been kinda pathetic. But thanks to you being here, well, yeah! So I should be the one thanking you."

"R...Really? I find that kinda hard to believe, I mean, you're so...so cool! The coolest, even. But I'm glad I could help, anyway!" He held the door to the laundromat open for Drake.

"Ready to carry on with the mission? Gotta get back up, right?"

"Yeah! Laundry and groceries! Adulting to the max!" 

This was more invigorating to Launchpad than any motivational speech.

Adulting had never been so much fun before! They spent the morning and most of the afternoon doing what should have been mundane chores; laundry, grocery shopping, and picking up supplies to clean up the apartment.

But even so, every moment felt important with Drake. Like they were doing vital work, and even more than that, he thoroughly enjoyed his company. The guy was genuinely cool and easy to talk to, and his knowledge of DW lore was staggeringly impressive. That was just a bonus though. 

Launchpad found himself wishing he could stay for longer than a few days, but he pushed those thoughts away as they climbed the stairs for the fourth time that day, clean laundry and full grocery bags in tow.

Somehow climbing the stairs yet again was still fun. Usually Drake was tired and wiped out by now, but unlocking the door, heavily-laden with groceries, he was still beaming with excitement. "Okay, so! Let's construct a battle plan!"

Launchpad met his enthusiasm with his own, nodding as he put the bags down inside the door and started unpacking them. "Yeah! Villainy never rests, so neither can we!" He pulled out a box of cereal and put it away on top of the fridge, tossing a bottle of universal spray cleaner to Drake.

"Yeah, exactly!" Drake set about putting their groceries away, and unrolled a map of the city on the kitchen table. "First things first! Crime fighting fuel! Do you like fried rice?"

"Uh, only a lot? What about you? You up for some cream cheese rangoons?" Launchpad grinned, sitting across from him and looking down at the map, studying it. "This city is pretty big. It'll take a while to map it out properly."

"Oh absolutely! Sounds awesome! In terms of looking around the city... maybe there's some trouble nearby.... I mean, there's trouble everywhere. It shouldn’t be too hard to find.” 

"Yeah! I doubt we'd have to look very far to find some. I mean, heck, it was right on your roof last night!" He chuckled at this, but just then there was a bang on the door.

Going to the peephole, a look of guilt crossed Drake’s face.

"It's Mrs. Parker. I guess it's time to come clean about falling into her garden last night..." He grumbled. Undoing the latch, he forced his best apologetic smile.

"Oh, hi Mrs. Parker! I hope I didn't wake you coming in last night. You know, it's so dark out on the roof, I'm so sorry about what happened..."

The older woman seemed to pay his apologies no mind. "What's that now? Oh nonsense! You simply _must_ tell me your secret, young man!"

Launchpad glanced sharply at the door. Was their cover blown already?

"He doesn't have any secrets! Not a one!" he called, trying to sound genuine as he shot them a thumbs-up from the kitchen. As if that didn’t sound _more_ suspicious.

"M-my secret? Ma'am I just got back from Duckburg, I needed some fresh air up on the roof. It's so dark up there, I didn't mean to make a mess of things. I'm sorry..." Drake apologized, suddenly finding his own toes awfully interesting as he tried to avoid eye contact.

"A mess? My dear, what on Earth do you mean? My zucchini has never looked this healthy before! Why I've got so much I hardly know what to do with it! I'll be baking bread for weeks! You didn't have to go and fertilize it for me, Drake. You're such a nice young man, always helping out. I'll be sure to bring you and your friend some fresh zucchini bread later. As much as you like!" She smiled at him and wagged her finger.

"Now you boys stay out of trouble, and be careful up on that roof! It can get dangerous!"

"Er... yes, of course. You have a good night, don't forget to latch your door!"

Drake stood there, mouth agape, in stunned silence for a minute. He then turned to Launchpad, surprise and confusion still plastered across his face.

"I... you ... we didn't dream up last night, right? We did laundry and everything. I know I fell in her garden, it should have been a mess...? I'm sure of it! I'm gonna go have a look? Just so I don't think I'm crazy?"

Launchpad rubbed his chin as though he were considering a great mystery. "Those zukes were definitely _squashed_. We better check it out."

They both grabbed their phones and Drake snatched up his keys, heading down the hall towards the roof.

~☆~ 

Drake was rambling as he led the way up to the rooftop.

"Yeah, I mean I know her eyesight isn't the greatest, but it was pretty bad, I think she would have notice--wHOA!" Drake stopped short, almost tripping over himself as he opened the door to the roof. The garden wasn’t destroyed at all, it was just the opposite; lively and overgrown, filled with flowers he had never seen before, and massive vegetables, sprawling beyond the confines of the chicken wire bordering the tiny corner rooftop garden. "What the... holy succotash with carrots!"

Launchpad, following right behind him, crashed into him as he stopped suddenly and grabbed onto Drake’s shoulders to stop them both from barreling over. "Oof! Uh...sorry I wasn't watching where I was...woahhh.... those are some serious vegetables!" He looked around at the luscious garden, scratching his head. "Well, it definitely didn't look like this last night. Hey, your butt doesn't have some kind of super plant-growing power right?"

"If it does, we better call the supermarket right away! Or the world record office." Recovering his bearings, Drake carefully approached the garden, not entirely sure what to make of it. "But how did everything grow back so fast..."

He stopped, pointing to the thick roots that twisted over the wall where the top of the fire escape had detached from the brick the previous night. "Unless they're not growing here at all! Look at that! Where do you think they're coming from? We’re twelve stories up...."

"There's only one way to find out...looks like all that endurance training is about to pay off!" 

He grinned at Drake and gestured over his shoulder. "To the stairs? First one to the bottom gets to make the first plant-based pun once we find out where the roots lead!"

"Not if I can get to the _root_ of it first!" Drake teased, already headed back towards the stairs.

When they reached the bottom, the first streaks of twilight were beginning to cross the sky, and Drake surveyed the street carefully, backing up from the building to get a view of the side. The roots looked almost like twisting ivy from the outside, leading down and around to a boarded up old greenhouse on the other side of the same block. That was, if it could even be called a greenhouse anymore. The roots and twisting branches that reached upward acted as a second roof and canopy. The place was completely overgrown. Not just overgrown as in ‘a place that appeared to be abandoned for some time, possibly even years’; but rather it was overtaken by nature to such an incredible degree that the plant life and greenery had become almost _ominous_. 

Drake folded his arms. He was completely unsure what to make of this. "You know what? The plant pun is yours, I got nothing... that place has been there for a long while.... since before I moved in."

Launchpad was leaning against the building, catching his breath. "Hoo...huh...uhhh...I dunno, buddy, I got nothing either...I'm feeling a little _green._ " He smirked. "But this does remind me of season two, episode five. _The Night Stalk-er_! Remember? Dr. Bushroot made his big debut in that episode!"

"Oh yeah! And hey, look at this, a quick internet search on Waddle says this place used to be a botanical garden!” Drake held up his phone. “Huh, sure did let the place go. Say, do you think investigating this is a job for Darkwing Duck?" He asked with a smirk.

"Say, yeah! It'd be good practice at the very least! I mean, we'd have to climb all those stairs again to get changed, but you're not going to let a thing like that make you give up, right?" Launchpad gave him a knowing grin and nudged him playfully in the ribs.

"Hey, hey, we better come back after dark anyway!"

"That's right! After all, you aren't the terror that flaps in the _twilight_..." Launchpad laughed gently. "Why don't we head on up and grab something to eat while we wait for the veil of darkness?"

Once back upstairs, Drake put the Darkwing Duck costume on for the second time in two days. He gazed out the window dramatically, tipping his hat to emphasize the effect. "What nefarious fiends could be plotting out there? Lurking in the darkness...Ohmygosh this is so exciting! Maybe it’ll be some good old-fashioned Darkwing-style sleuthing!"

Pulling his jacket on, Launchpad carefully folded the hoodie that Drake let him borrow earlier that day, leaving it safely on the table. "I know! Anything could happen! Oh, it's kind of like...our first real mission together! Well our first one on purpose! Can we take a selfie for, uh, posterity?" He gave Drake a pleading look, holding up his phone with a hopeful expression.

Drake adjusted the hat nervously, and blushed in a mix of embarrassment and pride. "Sure, why not! To commemorate our debut as a team!"

Launchpad lit up, fist pumping excitedly. "Yes!" He jumped up, sliding in close next to Drake and holding his phone up. "Okay, say ' _Suck Gas, Evildoers!_ ’ and do the pose!"

Drake posed dramatically, holding up finger guns at the camera. "Suck gas, evildoers! This team will be the painful lego under the foot of crime!"

A noise of sheer nerd delight came out of Launchpad as he took a pic. In fact, they ended up taking a few, in several different poses, laughing with joy by the time they were done. "Woah, look at these! They're great! You look incredible! Bad guys, look out! DW is on the prowl!" Launchpad exclaimed as he scrolled through the photos, showing Drake how cool they looked.

Drake was sure his own cheeks hurt from smiling so hard. "Well, let's actually do the part! Uh...Any ideas for a battle plan?"

"Hmmm... oh! I know!" Launchpad went into the kitchen and rummaged around under the sink for a minute, emerging with a bottle of extra strength Weed-B-Gone, which he handed to Drake. "I found it stashed way in the back when we were putting supplies away earlier! Figured we ought to be prepared and it's better than going empty handed, right?"

"Yeah, sure! I guess we can sneak in, climb the wall, and try to see into the greenhouse from above? Gosh, I wish I owned a grappling hook! Those kinds of stunts were all going to be faked for the movie..." He stuck out his tongue. He wanted to do real stunts just like Jim always did, but doing them for real was entirely different. 

"Gee, it's too bad I didn't know we'd be doing this stuff. We have that kind of stuff just...laying around all over the place at McDuck Manor. The kids use it to play nerf wars on the weekends sometimes! It's uh... pretty intense, ha ha." Though the ‘wars’ Launchpad was thinking of hardly ever involved fake weapons. Just about everything in the Manor was very, very real.

"Well uh, I've probably got some rope laying around, we can make do with that for now?" Drake started gathering up a few things from the cabinet. "It's no superhero tool kit, but we're making do with what we have!"

"Improvisation is an essential crime-fighting skill!" Launchpad grabbed a flashlight and checked to make sure it worked. "This'll come in handy! Okay, you ready to go, DW?" He emphasized the last part, grinning at him.

Drake looked up from the bag he had put together, and something about this...everything, it just felt right. He wanted to pluck the words out of the air, and hold them close to his heart. 

He wished he could just bottle that sentence and keep it. Then he could play it over and over in his mind. Steeling himself, he looked up at Launchpad. A calm determination set across his face, and he smirked. "Yeah, let's do this, LP."

And Launchpad? He wanted to freeze this moment, hold on to it. The way Drake was looking at him, as though he was ready to trust him with his life. The way he looked in the suit...all of it was so perfect, he wanted to stay here, in this moment, forever. But evil waited for no duck. They had a job to do. So he nodded, adjusted his cap, and followed ‘DW’ out the door, heading out to their first mission.

There was something a bit awkward about descending the stairs in full Darkwing attire, (it extra made Drake feel as though he was just an overzealous cosplayer) but it wasn't like any of the old people in his hallway ever noticed or cared. This part of the street was only illuminated by one street light, around which moths gathered. Drake tested some of the vines along the wall, pulling at them with considerable force to see if they were indeed strong enough to climb, so they could make their way to the top and peer down into one of the few unobscured windows.

Together, they climbed them onto the overgrown platform that could have served as part of a rooftop.

Launchpad was leaning forward, kneeling on one of the vines, trying to peer into a dingy window clouded with grime and age. Without warning, the window suddenly gave way with a crash and he tumbled down into the darkness of the abandoned building with a shout. So much for stealth.

Drake tied his rope to the tree just above his head atop the greenhouse, sliding down it. He landed near Launchpad inside, pulling out his phone flashlight to survey the area. "Huh.... it looks like nobody is here... you okay, LP?"

Launchpad sat up, more embarrassed than hurt. "Yeah, I’m fine! Sorry about that. I should've been more careful on that old glass..." He stood up carefully, dusting himself off.

"Well, let's have a look around... this place looks pretty abandoned, but obviously those vines are new..." Drake reached over, helping Launchpad up, surveying the plants around them, peering down the path that was now horribly overgrown. This place looked more like an indoor forest than a greenhouse. The ground beneath their feet was packed pebbles over a layer of dirt, with narrow pathways that snaked between massive hedges and trees that reached up to the ceiling above.

Launchpad nodded, pulling the flashlight out of his jacket and giving it a shake, relieved to find it hadn't been damaged in the fall. He shined it around, illuminating large, ominous vines draped over nearly every man made surface. "Jeez, how did this all grow practically overnight? That's crazy… there’s no way nobody noticed this before if it’s been here..." He followed behind Drake, sweeping the flashlight around the greenhouse.

Drake heard a voice around the corner, if it could be called a corner at all, and turned off his flashlight as he tried to creep closer _._ "Ssshhh, I think I hear someone else here! Pass me one of those smoke bombs, LP!"

Launchpad quickly clicked off his flashlight and dug one of the smoke bombs out, passing it to Drake in a hurry. "Here ya go, DW! Go make your big entrance!" He gave him two big thumbs up and a huge smile. 

He grinned back, rolling out into the clearing, appearing in the puff of blue smoke. "I am the terror that flaps in the night! I am the early frostbite that ruins your summertime crops just before harvest! I am Darkwing Duck!"

Launchpad hung back, hiding behind a huge crate of some kind of chemical fertilizer, watching and waiting in case he needed backup. He mouthed the intro along with him, recognizing it from the episode they had discussed earlier where Dr. Bushroot was introduced. Gosh, Drake was so _cool!_ ****

_Ugh, stay focused LP!_ He looked around for the bad guy. Was there a bad guy...? They were sort of breaking and entering, so in this scenario, it was possible there wasn’t even a bad guy in the first place.

To everyone’s surprise, a very confused and startled Dr. Bushroot was standing there, pouring drops of a strange vial over some seeds at a makeshift table amongst the weeds. Drake lowered his cape meekly. "Uh... oh, sorry, it looks like it's just a LARPer. Cool costume, man!"

Launchpad immediately came out of hiding, wanting to see the fellow fan's costume. "Oh! No way! Awesome Bushroot cosplay! Did you come for a photoshoot because of all these weird plants? That's genius." He pulled his phone out. "Do you mind if I get a pic? Oh! You and DW should do one together! You can pose like you're in an epic showdown!"

Dr. Bushroot stared at them in disbelief, genuinely surprised that anyone would drop in on him. "What? Are you guys cosplayers? Uh, but _I'm_ Dr. Bushroot! What-- how did you even find me here?"

"No, I'm-!" They stared at each other blankly for a moment, before responding in unison.

"Wait, Dr. Bushroot is real?" "Wait, Darkwing Duck is real?" 

“No way!” Launchpad looked at the man standing there. He did look an awful lot like Dr. Reggie Bushroot. At least, what had once been Dr. Reginald Bushroot, the botanist who merged himself with a plant to become some sort of strange duck-plant hybrid. He even sounded like him. He looked at Drake, then at Bushroot, then back to Drake.

"DW, I think that might be _the_ Dr. Bushroot. Like, for real!" He looked back at Bushroot, stared blankly for a moment, then turned back to Drake and took his hands excitedly, jumping up and down slightly. "Dude I'm freaking out! This is _unreal_! Ahhhhh!"

"What? Darkwing Duck isn't real! He's just a fictional character!" Dr. Bushroot snapped, dismissing the very notion.

"Dr. Bushroot isn't real! He's just a fictional character!" Drake shot back.

Dr. Reginald Bushroot looked horribly offended by such an accusation. "Eh?! Do you have any idea who I even am, or what I’m trying to accomplish? The work I’m doing here is very real, and soon enough I’ll have created an entire society of plants that will rise above the rest of the world! My vision is just wildly misunderstood, not to be interfered with by some… duck masquerading as a fictional character!” 

"Well, I'm here right now, and I'm real!" Drake posed proudly, 

"That's right, evildoer! This is the genuine article, a true hero, the real Darkwing Duck himself! So you had better just stop...er...whatever evil thing you've done to poor Mrs. Parker's zucchini or he'll have to bring you to justice!" Launchpad attempted. 

"What? I've been minding my own business!" Dr. Bushroot growled, and there was something ominous to it. After all, he wasn’t quite...duck. More like a strange plant...mutant duck. "You barged in on ME! I’m doing important work here! We could solve world hunger this way, if everyone becomes plants, there will be no need for food! The rest of the world just isn’t ready for my revolutionary ideas!" 

"Yeah but, but you uh..." Drake floundered for a moment. "Well, your plants are growing beyond their home, so it's time to trim the trees before they grow out into the rest of the city! Can you at least, I don’t know, dial it back a little?"

Launchpad cheered. "Yeah! Tell him, DW! These weeds are whack!" He might've felt a bit silly, like a kid cheering on DW while watching the hero on TV, but instead, he felt unstoppable. It was as if together, they could overcome any obstacle, right any wrong. He wasn't in the way here, he wasn't just a liability waiting to happen. They were a team. 

"DW, catch!" He tossed him another smoke bomb.

But Bushroot was no longer in the mood for diplomacy. "Fine then, you supposed, so-called savior! No more Mister Nice Plants! I can’t have any witnesses! So sorry guys. It sounds like I’ll have to kill Darkwing Duck today." He uprooted a short sunflower with one hand, and poured a vial of pink fluid over it. 

For the next minute, many things happened in quick succession.

With a speed Drake only thought possible from cartoons, the flower grew, its roots thickening and lengthening like legs, and a row of large, sharp teeth sprouted between the petals. There was no way this was real life. It was absurd. This felt like a cartoon. The flower snarled and bared its thorny teeth at him and it became horrifyingly clear that this was, in fact, real life. 

He had to do _something._

Drake caught the smoke bomb, and tossed it in front of him. He rolled forward through the smoke so he could jump on top of the flower, which bit its tongue. He suddenly became very aware of the fact that the trees around them seemed like they were closing in, their branches reaching for him with a slow ominous motion, and perhaps that they may have had some element of sentience to them. This realization came with a tiny measure of terror and he fumbled in his bag for the weed killer, glad that LP had the forethought to dump it in a spray bottle.

Looking around for some way to help, Launchpad noticed a big glass vial on the makeshift wooden table. It had a picture of a cartoon flower on it, but the round part of the flower was a skull. He walked over and picked it up, peering at it. The chemical inside was fluorescent pink and bubbled gently.

Dr. Bushroot gasped when he saw Launchpad pick it up, shaking his fist, his attention drawn away from Darkwing and the toothy flower attacking him for a moment. "Put that down, you fool! It's a very delicate experiment!"

Darkwing was a bit preoccupied, as he was trying to stomp out the toothy flower, spraying the weed killer at the surrounding branches that advanced, menacing him with grasping gnarled wooden arms. Vines began to slink down like strange eyeless snakes, rearing up towards him before striking. In quick succession, they whipped Drake in the face, arms, and feet. He flailed about helplessly, trying to dodge them with mixed success. "No, you should totally not put it down! Maybe shatter it or something, LP!"

"What? Oh! Uh, right!" He looked at the vial then pulled his arm back and threw it as hard as he could. It sailed through the air as Dr. Bushroot cried out. It felt like everything was moving in slow motion as the glass shattered against the vines that lined the wall, and the pink liquid sloshed everywhere, dripping down and soaking into the dirt and pebbles that made up the floor. 

The offending vines immediately began to wither and shrink, turning a sickly brown color. Dr. Bushroot sank to his knees, burying his hands in his wild hair. "Nooooooo! My precious roots! How could you!? Do you have any idea what kind of damage you’ve done? First I have to re-grow my entire laboratory overnight, now _this?_ "

"You should have thought of that before you sent them up into people's homes! Your plants have outgrown their home, and potentially outgrown the whole block!” Darkwing tried to protest, but the sunflower bit down on his webbed foot, and hard. "Ow, okay, geez!"

The flower managed to take one more lively snap at him before finally wilting, the Weed-B-Gone doing its job.

Launchpad rushed over to his teammate’s side, helping him down from the tangle of vines that were now falling limp. "Yikes, those teeth look pretty vicious. Are you gonna be okay, DW?"

"I uh, I hope so. But... we uh, better not let our guards down! Ow, geez! Why would you even make a flower with teeth?" He scrambled around and grabbed a rusty shovel that lay against the wall, hitting away more of the creaking branches that were still advancing on him. 

Dr. Bushroot stood up, shaking with rage, and advanced on them. “You! You! Meddling menace! You really must be that Darkwing Duck! I should have known! You’re ruining everything! The world isn’t ready for my botanical advancements, they’re not ready to have their problems solved by Doctor Reginald Bushroot!” 

Launchpad swallowed. "Ohhh, he does _not_ look happy. What's the plan, DW?"

"Uh! We run? I didn't really think we'd get this far! I wish I had a weed whacker!" Darkwing complained, backing up until he was back to back with Launchpad,brandishing the rusty shovel like a sword, hitting away branches as they approached. 

Launchpad looked at the encroaching wood, steeled himself, then took a deep breath. "Okay. We run." 

He moved quickly, grabbing Drake around the middle without warning, scooping him up and carrying him fireman-style over his shoulder, shoving his way through the wilting vines and branches. Soon after he tumbled through to a safe landing nearby where they had first fallen in, just as police sirens sounded outside. These were almost immediately followed by flashing blue and red lights, and two uniformed police officers burst into the greenhouse, shining a flashlight in their faces. 

"SCPD! Where is Dr. Reginald Bushroot?"

"What?! The police? Why?" Darkwing squinted against the lights, as behind them, Dr. Bushroot began to panic, trying to hastily gather his beakers and various lab equipment from his set up on the table.

The light swung over to focus on Bushroot, and with it out of their eyes, it became clear that there was also a gun pointed at them along with the flashlight, which now turned and pointed at Dr. Bushroot. 

"Freeze, freak! You're under arrest for illegal modification of plant matter, breaking and entering, assault, destruction of property, and old-lady bothering! You have the right to shut up and come quietly!"

"Old lady bothering? What?!" Cornered, Bushroot raised his hands in surrender, another layer of frustration evident on his face. 

All this really did for Darkwing was stir up mixed feelings of victory and confusion as he watched the officers cuff the somewhat benign-looking Dr. Bushroot and lead him away. More than anything else, he was just bewildered. "We better make ourselves scarce, even though uh ...did we save the day? Sorta? But honestly, we should leave, before the police think we’re suspicious. The cops here are no joke!"

"We...uh, well, we got to the _root_ of the problem! And we did keep him busy long enough for the cops to get here...?” Launchpad offered him a lopsided smile. 

Still hanging over Launchpad’s shoulder, Darkwing rolled his eyes. "If we’re doing this for real, I’d like to tangle with the police as rarely as possible. Here's another situation where a grappling hook would be useful. Uh... smoke bomb?"

"Good call!" Launchpad pulled out another smoke bomb and passed it to him. He put him down, but chose to stick close to him.

"And that's all tonight for Darkwing Duck!" Darkwing declared, throwing the smoke bomb down, giving them a chance to escape.

And escape they did. Whether it was Drake’s sheer forgettability even in the Darkwing costume, or the utter weirdness of the arrest of a duck who had mutated himself into a half-plant, half-duck hybrid creature, they had no trouble slipping out unnoticed during the commotion of Dr. Bushroot's arrest. They didn't stop running until they reached the top of the stairs, fueled on adrenaline, huffing and puffing in the hallway outside Drake's apartment. 

Launchpad leaned against the wall as he tried to catch his breath. "Hah...hah...we...gave em the slip. Heh heh....vanished into the night....whew...."

"I can't believe he's real! I have action figures of that guy! And he's like, a mutant plant-duck and everything! We were like this far away from him!" Drake was practically giggling with joy as he opened the door. "And now he's actually been caught and he's really Darkwing Duck's enemy! _My_ enemy! Oh my god!"

"I know! _I know_ ! He might even swear vengeance on you! You totally foiled his plans! Jeez, this is crazy!" He followed Drake inside, still in shock about the events of the evening. "I can't believe we just met...we just _thwarted_ THE Dr. Bushroot! In real life! Wow! What a first mission, huh?"

"Right? That was so cool!" Darkwing jumped onto the couch, then sank back, sucking in through his teeth and sitting up to pull the remains of the thorny teeth from the mutated flower out of his feet. "That was insane, oh I can't believe this is real. We make such an awesome team!"

Snatching up the first aid kit, Launchpad knelt in front of the couch, pulling out a pair of tweezers to help him tend with the thorns. He went slow, inspecting his feet carefully with a surprisingly delicate grip. "Hold still, those are in pretty deep...this might sting a little..." He plucked one of the thorns gingerly, wincing as he did. They looked pretty painful. "You fought that flower thing off like a champ. It was so nasty looking!"

"Oh! Uh, thanks. Heh, no angry plants can stop Darkwing Duck! He can get back up from anything! But uh, I wasn't really thinking, I just knew I had to stop it, you know? No hesitation." 

He watched Launchpad, a whole rush of feelings washing over him. Nobody had ever helped him tend to his wounds before, he was used to handling it by himself _._ "Like, if something like that got out, it could really mess up somebody's home, or hurt someone. I guess I was on automatic, as crazy as the idea of a plant with teeth even is!"

"I guess you really did leap into action, huh?" Launchpad pulled another thorn, wincing again as though he were the one feeling the pain. He glanced up at Drake briefly. "Still though, I'm glad you're okay. Or....mostly okay. I know getting dangerous is kind of the point but..." 

What was it he wanted to say? Of course being a hero was dangerous. He was being ridiculous. 

"I'd just hate to see anything happen to you, so just know I've always got your back, okay?" He looked down, taking out the last thorn, and reached into the first aid kit for the antibiotic ointment, which he gently rubbed into the wounds on his feet. He looked up at him and smiled. "There, all fixed up, see?"

"Thanks, I..." Taking off his hat, Drake opened his mouth to say something, then closed it, and sat there in silence for a minute, unable to find words. "I appreciate it. It means a lot. I mean...yeah, hero stuff is dangerous, but let's not be stupid…when the danger is real, we have to take it seriously..."

"It's like Mr. McDee says, you've got to be smarter than the smarties, sharper than the sharpies, and tougher than the toughies..." He got up, setting the first aid kit on the table and sitting next to Drake on the couch before continuing. 

"But I think being a hero is more than that. It isn't enough to be tough, or smart, or sharp. Sometimes there isn't time for that. Being a hero is about being brave and knowing what's right without a moment of hesitation...and Drake, you...you have that inside of you. Just know that while you're looking out for the world, you'll have me looking out for you." He put his hand down on the couch and found it on top of Drake's and blushed, crossing his arms in front of him, realizing how corny that all probably sounded.

Suddenly Drake Mallard’s cheeks were very hot, and he sat there for a long moment, before leaning against him, just savoring their shared presence _._ "I could say the same about you... it's really heroic. You're so selfless and tough, I mean, you saved my tailfeathers back there! You were really ready to dive into action to protect others... I think that's what Darkwing Duck was supposed to be about all along."

Launchpad didn't know what to say. He felt like crying, but he also felt like laughing. That might have been the nicest thing anyone had ever said to him. He didn't trust himself to say anything, so instead he just pulled Drake into a hug. It seemed like the best way to express what he was feeling at that moment.

Drake felt like saying anything would ruin the moment, so he just sat there, relishing this feeling he couldn't quite describe. 

How could someone make you feel safe, but also like you wanted them to smile, but also like everything would be okay, all at once? 

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he reluctantly pulled away to go change out of costume and into the tee shirt he usually slept in.

After brushing his teeth and washing his face, he lingered in the doorway to the bedroom, unable to meet Launchpad's gaze, he glanced sideways out the window at the city lights. "You know... we didn't get that night of watching reruns or Darkwing spinoffs... um. If you just wanted to... hang out for awhile... we could?"

Launchpad looked up at him, feeling oddly self-conscious about how excited the idea made him. "Yeah? You...you aren't too tired? I know that fight probably took a lot out of you, I know you're probably pretty wiped out. If...if you'd rather just go to bed I won't be disappointed." He did his absolute best to keep the disappointment out of his voice as he said it, looking down at his hands, which fiddled with the hem of his jacket.

"Well, I am pretty wiped, but you had a lot of excitement too. It would be nice to unwind. And, I don't know, we could always call it research now, right?" Drake shot him a lopsided half smile, picking up the remote as he sat back down next to him on the couch.

"Yeah, alright! Oh, let me just get a little more comfortable first, one sec!" His companion grabbed the hoodie off the table where he had left it and vanished into the bathroom to change, wash up and get ready for bed, coming out several minutes later looking comfy and ready for reruns. He sat on the couch next to Drake and stretched, settling in comfortably, then gave him a broad grin. "So, where should we start our _research?_ "

"Good question. Season three had some of the most practical crime fighting scenarios, but there's more we could learn from in season one as far as setting up and planning… you really get to see a lot of Darkwing’s origins and his process..." Drake suggested.

"Well, seeing as how we're starting from scratch we probably ought to start from the beginning, don't you think? Season one, episode one!"

"Good plan! Hey, you had sort of started a checklist for what we need, let's write it down!" Reinvigorated already, Drake popped in a DVD and grabbed a notebook off of the end table, flipping through it until he reached a blank page _._

"Oh, good call! That way we can check it later and check off things as we accomplish them! Hey, I just got why they call it a checklist!"

"Yeah, totally! Now let's see here... already, we have...the basics? Hero costume, secret identity, cool catchphrase, and stylish entrances, if I do say so myself! So I guess we still need.... secret lair, arch nemesis, cool gadgets, information, tool kit, hm...."

"Grappling hook! Put that down! Or, wait that probably counts as a cool gadget, right? Hmmm..." Launchpad stroked his chin for a moment, then got distracted humming along with the theme song.

"Well, we can start a list of gadgets! I guess a grappling hook counts for the gadgets and also the toolkit, huh...." Drake furiously tried to scribble every idea down as it popped up.

Launchpad pointed at the screen _._ "I wonder if we could get a gas gun? Maybe we could make our own somehow...? Is that...even legal? We should probably look that up online."

"Yes! It's iconic! I don't know where you could get something like that..." He pondered. "More smoke bombs, and we would need some sort of ammo for the gas gun, for sure! And a parachute, um… maybe sleeping gas too! The gas gun in the show has sleeping gas, laughing gas, stink gas, itch gas! Oh! and we need rubber gloves, and scissors, but better? So industrial shears...?" 

And so it went on like this through the early morning hours, until one very exhausted Drake Mallard fell asleep with his head leaning against Launchpad's shoulder, illuminated by the light from the TV. It was showing the same episodes he had watched hundreds of times before, yet now he wanted to watch them all with a whole new perspective.

Launchpad realized at some point that Drake had drifted off against his arm, and he settled back into the couch cushion, careful not to wake him. They had both had a long, exhausting, incredible day. He closed his eyes, letting the familiar, soothing sounds of his favorite TV show slowly lull him toward sleep. As he was dozing off, he realized he could feel the rise and fall of Drake's chest as he breathed, and the beating of his heart through the thin fabric of his t-shirt pressed against his arm. It made his own heart flutter and quicken, and his final thought to himself before sleep claimed him was that those might be the most precious things in the world, and that he had to protect Drake no matter the cost. Hero or just an ordinary duck, Drake Mallard was someone special.

~☆~ 

It had been light for some time when Drake's phone went off, playing out the familiar tune of the Darkwing Duck ending theme in 8-bit, and he blearily felt around on the floor for it, rubbing his eyes as he answered. 

"Hello-? ....Yes, this is he... yes, I applied. Of course. ....Yes, hold on, let me write it down..." He grabbed the notebook where they were taking hero work notes in a tired daze, and quickly turned the page, scribbling down an address. "Yes, I understand.... I can do that.. Well, thank you! Happy to work with you and clean up the city. Yeah, you have a great afternoon too. Bye." 

He hung up, then sat there tiredly for a moment, slowly sinking back into the cushions before sitting bolt upright as the actual contents of the conversation truly dawned on him _._

"Afternoon?! Gosh, it's 12:25?" He stretched and got up, quickly trying to reset his morning routine. He didn't even recall falling asleep, but he felt remarkably rested, and somehow knew he had Launchpad to thank for that.

Sitting up slowly, Launchpad cracked his neck. His arm was a bit numb and his neck ached, but somehow he felt like he wouldn't have traded that spot last night for the most comfortable bed in the world. He stretched, yawning slightly, and rubbed his eyes, calling out to Drake as he got up to rummage around in the kitchen _._ "What's on the menu for training today? That phone call sounded important!"

"We got the permit for the garbage truck! It’s a contract gig, not a regular route. There’s not really a schedule because it’s pay-per-pound. Basically, we collect excess trash anywhere we can find some. The city will provide the truck and we can go pick it up, we're responsible for creating our own route or finding ideal pickup locations, dropping off the trash at the waste facility, gas, and taking care of the truck. They'll weigh the amount we hand in and we get paid accordingly! The lady on the phone gave me the address of the lot where we can go pick up." He unrolled the city map, pulling out some markers. "So... city surveillance can start ASAP!"

Rooting around in the cabinets, Launchpad offered Drake a bowl of Purple Krunchies, their favorite breakfast cereal. "Alright! Here, gotta fuel up if we're gonna be on surveillance all day! No better way to start the day than with a big bowl of Purp Krunch! Part of this balanced breakfast!" 

Darkwing Duck had endorsed Purple Krunchies for years, and the commercial for it was now practically engraved into his mind during his childhood years. He took a hearty bite of his own bowl, giving it a little stir and watching the milk turn purple.

"I see you're a man with a refined palate!"

Coming from anyone else, it would have sounded mocking, but from Drake it was somehow obviously sincere and intended as a compliment. "Oh, I feel like I haven't asked. How are you holding up? I know crime never sleeps and all that, but you know, jumping into all this hero stuff?"

Launchpad leaned against the wall, taking another bite of his cereal, bowl in one hand, spoon in the other. "I haven't felt this good in a while, actually. I'm pretty used to running all over the world, or flying for hours on no sleep, or having to face dangerous situations with no notice...but this is..." 

He took another bite, chewing thoughtfully for a moment. "...This is a lot of fun. Besides, we're doing important work here. I feel like I can really help out!"

Drake gazed at his cereal for a moment, then smiled _._ "It really is a lot of fun, huh? I think you really are helping! I hope that's not too childish, but I do feel like we're making a difference!"

Something about that was reassuring to Launchpad. "You mean it? I'm not...in the way? I know I mess up sometimes like with the fire escape and the window breaking and falling into the greenhouse and…” He hesitated. “Are you sure you don't want me to go home?" Thinking about it, he had been messing up a lot. Drake was a natural at this stuff. Maybe he would be better off… maybe he would be _safer_ going it alone.

"What? No, of course not! I just got us a job! Well, if you don’t want to do it too, you don’t have to. I mean I know it's not glamorous... and maybe we’re learning that being Darkwing Duck isn’t exactly glamorous either when you have to get dangerous in real life. I fell flat on my face getting on the roof! Isn't not exactly... being perfectly dexterous part of the whole DW job?" He laughed a little _._ "It keeps us both thinking fast! I'll be...pretty sad when you leave. This has been the best few days of my life! And I say this as the guy who had a foot full of thorns last night!"

There wasn't any part of Launchpad’s mind or heart that doubted Drake's sincerity. The way he spoke, the way he looked at him, he knew he really felt that way. These two nights of craziness were the best few days of his life too. Launchpad felt his face flush and quickly drank down the rest of his purple milk, coughing a bit as he drank it too fast. "I'll uhhh, go and grab your mail for you, get a little extra endurance training in while you plot out the course so you can rest your feet a bit more." 

He grabbed the mail key off the hook by the door and glanced at Drake, lingering in the doorway. "Thanks...you know, I'll be pretty sad when I have to leave too." With that he turned and left, shutting the door behind him, the sound of his jogging footsteps disappearing gradually as he worked his way down the now-familiar steps.

Listening to the receding footsteps, Drake squished his face, reminding himself that this was only for a while, but a while was right now, and he was going to give it his all, just like Launchpad! He took out a ruler and a dry erase marker, and started plotting the course on their map.

A few minutes later, the sound of footsteps pounding up the stairs was soon followed by Launchpad bursting through the door, slamming it open in a frenzy of excitement, holding a newspaper in front of him in one hand, a bundle of bills, coupons, and junk mail in the other. "I CAN'T BELIEVE IT!"

Drake practically leapt out of his chair in surprise. "Can't believe what? That I pay $60 a month for renter's insurance? Join the club!"

"What? No, look! Look!" He ran over, practically shoving the newspaper into Drake's beak, pointing excitedly at the Crime and Punishment section on Page 12. There, on the bottom of the page was a tiny blurb. He pointed at it excitedly. "Masked Purple Weirdo Whacks Wild Weeds! DW, you're in the _newspaper_!"

"What? Let me see!" It was a tiny bit at the end of a larger column, barely two sentences, but it was still almost like a headline! "You're right! This is amazing! Wow! We should keep this and start a scrapbook!"

Launchpad was already running to the kitchen drawer for scissors and a glue stick. "On it!" He sat at the table, taking the newspaper gently from Drake and painstakingly cutting out the newspaper clipping. He held up the carefully cut little scrap of paper. "Don't you think we ought to frame this? After all, it's your first time in the newspaper! This is the very start of your legacy!"

"Yes! Not just my legacy, LP! The real Darkwing Duck! Of protecting Saint Canard!" He balled his fist triumphantly. "This is just proof we can do this! Come on! Let's get dirty!"

Launchpad finished up, pinning the clipping, now mounted on some poster paper, neatly on the wall in a place of honor right alongside all of the other Darkwing Duck posters and framed pictures. He admired it for a moment, proof of the impact they were making on the world before he straightened his cap and nodded _._ "Yeah! We are the street sweeper that cleans the filthy streets of evil!"

"Good one, LP! I'll have to write that down." 

Picking up the truck was an easy enough affair, but clearing St. Canard's streets of trash was not. Though the city was a grid, at times it felt endlessly huge, and endlessly full of waste! Between bags filled with unidentified goo, dogs mistaking Drake for the mailman, and piles of old boxes and bottles, the duo had their work cut out for them. 

Drake could have sworn some of the citizens were just throwing out bags of bricks! He clung to the handrail for dear life after a broken sofa toppled back out of the truck just as they were starting to drive away. Plotting out the city sure was hazardous! 

When they stopped to drop off their load near the end of the day, they were both bone-tired as they surveyed their progress on the map so far. Drake plotted out their route as best he could, marking where they had and hadn’t been already. "So...out this way we have an upscale neighborhood, I guess we can hit that tomorrow, and all that's left on the north side of the district is this. The abandoned power plant...at least, it should be abandoned."

LP pulled the little notebook out of his inner jacket pocket where he kept the list of vehicles he had driven and put a check mark next to "garbage truck". This was so exciting! He even made it most of the day without crashing it, which shouldn't have been too surprising considering they were traveling at a top speed of less than 20 miles per hour. Even so, at one point he had accidentally reversed into a dumpster, but the damage hadn't been too bad and luckily Drake was nowhere near the truck or the dumpster at the time. 

He felt like they were making some good progress on surveying, considering it was only their first day. He called out to Drake over the noise of the truck. "Well, that greenhouse was supposed to be abandoned too! I think we better check it out, just to be safe, don't you?"

"Sure thing! It is pretty out of the way, but we got a lot today. Might as well go snoop!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so, so much for reading! We're super stoked to share this story with you! Merry Christmas (if you celebrate it)! See you next chapter!


	3. Let's Get Electrocuted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning - This chapter contains: Touching unsanitary objects, electrocution (depicted as cartoony), and a minor depressive episode.

Despite the fact that it was probably a bit shady, Launchpad decided to support Drake’s idea to go snoop. "Roger that! We can make it our last stop for the day, then head home and look over the data!"

They both knew it was just an excuse to check out a spooky old location, but neither of them minded spending the extra time together, especially doing something mission-related. Launchpad checked the map, then turned the truck off the main road toward the abandoned power plant. Drake was right; it was sort of far, on the outskirts of town. It wasn't likely anyone was going out of their way to dump any trash all the way out there; more likely than not, this was going to be a waste of time, and they’d be heading home with another useless big red X on their ‘points of interest’ map...

But, hey, leave no stone unturned, right?

The building loomed before them, massive and sprawling, all stained concrete and rusting metal and thick black wires running like deadly, long-sleeping vipers along every imposing wall. There was a faint, persistent humming in the air that might’ve been the distant, gentle buzz of several hundred thousand swarming insects...

As they approached the door, Drake felt a little unsettled. Maybe this place really was abandoned. But it was exciting, in a sneaky sort of way. He knocked on the door for posterity, as if knocking on the door and asking for trash was a totally normal and routine thing to do. 

"Helloooooo! Got any barrels of toxic waste to dispose of?" He was just about to turn around and leave, when he heard shuffling inside. "Reminder to self, add binoculars to that hero toolkit..."

Launchpad reached out to try the door to see if it was locked and as he touched the handle it gave him a nasty static shock. He yelped and pulled his hand back, shaking it and giving Drake a confused look. "I thought you said this place was abandoned? It shouldn't have power at all, right...?"

"Yeah, everything should be off! That's kinda suspicious... let's go spy on the place!" Drake was undaunted as he snuck around the side of the building, looking for a window to peer through. 

There were definitely signs of life inside.

"You know, I know snooping isn't really.... heroic? But I've got a bad feeling about this place. And my gut is usually right about that sort of stuff," Launchpad offered, giving Drake a boost up to some old barrels that stood beneath a dusty window. “Well, unless the bad feeling turns out to be a bad burrito, but...” He trailed off, slightly distracted by the thought.

"This is more like... investigating! After all, this place  _ is _ supposed to be abandoned. Whoever's in there could be hatching up some nefarious scheme!" Using Launchpad’s arm for support, he steadied himself on top of a barrel, trying to wipe away some of the dust from the window.

Launchpad nodded, then realized Drake wasn’t looking at him. “See anything in there, DW?”

"It’s hard to make out. But hey, it's that guy from the other night! The rat guy who dressed up as Megavolt! It looks like he's trying to build... some kinda device or something. And there’s a bunch of boxes. Like he’s moving in? Or moving out maybe? Either way, you were right, that guy totally said he was a villain too! He had a big monologue about it and everything."

"Oh! That guy with the machine? Didn't he have some kind of plug on his head? He really did look like Megavolt! Gee, maybe he’s a fan of his? What's he doing?" While supporting Drake so he didn’t fall over, Launchpad tried to keep a lookout. The last thing they needed was for someone to think they were the ones breaking into the old building and being suspicious.

"Like I said… it looks kinda like he's building something.... it looks like that thing that was being powered on the roof! I mean, I guess being at a power plant, you don't need to siphon it from the city… there are probably places where this is still attached to the city lines, so maybe he’s trying to re-activate the power station itself..." As he spoke, Drake squinted, trying to get a good look into the old building through the dust. "I can't get a good view. But I feel like in a place like that, we'll get noticed really fast if we try to break in. It’s mostly all one big room. Maybe this is another job for Darkwing Duck!"

Launchpad helped him down, thrilled by this development. Well, maybe he shouldn’t have been thrilled that a self-proclaimed supervillain was potentially plotting some awful, terrible, shocking  _ rat _ astrophe against the city, but he definitely  _ was  _ thrilled that they had found somewhere interesting to investigate! Maybe they could even sleuth out what he was up to along the way as a bonus. "This sounds pretty big. We'd better head back and regroup, come up with a plan! After all, we know where his hiding place is now! We've got the element of surprise on our side too!"

"Good plan! Hey, I guess garbage recon really did work out!" Drake’s excitement was written on his face as well. 

"Yeah! Gotta make sure to mark this place on the recon map!" He pulled the map out of his jacket, spreading it out against a crate and putting a big red circle around the power plant before tucking it away again. "Come on, let's get out of here before he smells us and blows our cover!"

They headed back to the truck together, and finished their run for the day as casually as possible. When they reached the dump, they realized that they certainly weren’t the shadiest characters who turned trash in for cash, though it was mere pennies per pound. Suspicious, unusual, off-putting and otherwise unsavory-looking were all words that could easily come to mind when observing the few other individuals that could be found skulking around the dump. This only motivated them further to expand their garbage-collecting efforts; the city obviously really needed all the help it could get. It also meant that avoiding suspicion would be easier than expected. 

They spent that night reviewing the progress they had made, thoroughly showering, and planning out equipment they would need for their infiltration of the power station. The next day was equally stressful, full of more tough trash and noxious fumes that nearly knocked Drake out while picking up the offending bags. No one tied up their old newspapers anymore, and they were soaked from the previous night’s rain, leaving every stack of paper and junk mail soggy, and beginning to smell as it baked in the sun amongst the rest of the trash. Bugs even crawled out of another bag, leaving Drake disgusted and itchy, and Launchpad nearly drove off without him at one point.

By lunchtime he was ready to collapse, but enough of the map was filled in that it seemed to give them both a sense of accomplishment.

Launchpad parked the truck under the bridge out of the city, figuring it was as good a spot as any for lunch. It seemed quiet enough, almost peaceful. As he threw the truck into park and leaned his arm against the driver’s side door, he took in the surrounding not-quite scenic view.

No one ever came down beneath the bridge anymore as the cement-lined sides of the riverbed weren’t exactly a prime swimming or fishing spot. The pollution from the city was evident from the brownish runoff that drained from the thick sewer pipes here and mixed with the brackish water that washed into the bay with every heavy rain. In recent years, it was just starting to become the popular occasional dumping ground for larger unwanted trash such as old mattresses, tires, and refrigerators. It seemed like a clever enough place to pick up work after they ate the lunches they brought with them.

But first, the cleansing.

_ Can’t fight crime if you’re fighting off a cough!  _

_ Clean hands can always clean up crime! _

Those old Public Service Messages had been drilled into Launchpad’s brain from years of safety-minded cartoon executives more concerned about child safety messages than good writing. He pulled out the pack of sani-wipes he kept in the glove box and tossed them to Drake. "Hey, nice foot work today! I thought you were a goner when that doberman got loose."

Drake pulled one out and wiped his hands after taking off his gloves so he could eat his sandwich. "Yeah, me too. Nice driving, by the way. I didn't even think you _ COULD  _ drift a garbage truck! Talk about training!"

"Oh, you'd be surprised! You can drift most things! Garbage trucks, speed boats, camels...it's all in the leaning." Launchpad laughed, then took a bite of his own sandwich after cleaning his hands thoroughly. He gazed around at the area under the bridge, taking slow, thoughtful bites. Since it was summer, despite the fact that it had rained the previous night, some places where the cement met the edge of the bay had dried up into cracked mud, and it was littered with sun-faded trash and dilapidated cardboard boxes. There were several outdated appliances scattered about, including an ancient cooktop stove range and a lonely vacuum cleaner missing its hose. Something seemed to catch his eye under the bridge, and he popped the last bite of his sandwich into his mouth, chewing with an inquisitive expression on his face as he pulled his gloves back on and climbed out of the truck to investigate.

"What's up, LP?" Drake asked as he got up, shoving the last of his own sandwich into his mouth before climbing out after him.

He called after Launchpad, who was already partway to the bridge. "Where are you going?"

"Hey, grab my tool bag from under the seat, would, ya? There's something back here!" Launchpad called back to him, as he was already in the process of shoving a few boxes out of the way, sending an avalanche of junk tumbling into the dry riverbed.

Drake dug around in the truck for a few moments for the toolbox, then followed Launchpad out to where he stood under the rusty pylons.

The sounds of the river and distant noises of traffic far above sounded oddly faint and almost soothing, contrasting sharply against the harsh landscape of trash and cracked mud they navigated as Drake followed him to the underside of the bridge. "Uh, be careful! There’s probably broken glass, and splinters, and stuff… even though those things are probably everywhere..."

Launchpad pulled one last huge box out of the way, revealing a thin piece of plywood nailed over what appeared to be some sort of doorway; probably a service entrance to the underside of the bridge. Launchpad pulled out a crowbar and a hammer and gave Drake a questioning look.

He frowned, looking at the hammer, then at the plywood-covered door, then at Drake. There was a clear moral quandary written across his features as he weighed the tools in his hands. "Do you think it’s a bad idea to check it out..?"

Drake shrugged. "I don’t actually know. It looks like an old maintenance door. Uh.... really old."

"I mean, it doesn't seem like anyone will mind...if they did I don't think they'd leave all this trash around. Besides, we can make it up to them by taking all this trash with us, right?" 

At least, that was the train of thought that Launchpad allowed himself to ride to Rationalization Station. Last stop: Check It Out City. __

_ All Aboard, Choo Choo. _ He thought.

He stretched, then held his arm out, motioning for Drake to stand back as he leveraged the piece of plywood off with a squeal of protest from the old nails. After a moment it clattered to the ground with the other junk and he tossed it aside, revealing a stairway that vanished into the twisting interior shadows of the old bridge.

Drake pulled out his phone, flicking on the flashlight, and gazed into the darkness. The stairs seemed to spiral up endlessly, and there was a squeaking protest from the metal grated floor as he climbed inside. "Well, I doubt this place is up to code... I wonder if those stairs go all the way to the top of the bridge… it seems like it was abandoned ages ago… we’ve got plenty of daylight left and I have that extra high-power flashlight in the tool bag...do you wanna check it out a bit before we get back to work?"

Launchpad was already digging the big flashlight out of the tool bag, which was slung over his shoulder. "Sure, why not? We can haul away some of the debris outside too."

Drake took another hesitant step inside, shining his light around. "Hello? St. Canard Waste Management Department! Anybody here?"

He was only met with the lonely echoes of his own voice.

Of course there was nobody here. Who would  _ want _ to hang around a place like this? 

"Talk about a fixer upper... I bet nobody has been here in years..." he mumbled as he tested the first few steps of the rusty stairs, which reverberated throughout the walkway up to the pylon with every movement, creating an unnerving symphony of creaks and groans as the ancient metal shifted and settled above them.

The stairway was barely wide enough for the both of them, and their shoulders touched as Launchpad swept his high-powered flashlight around, catching cobwebs and general filth in the glare of the beam as it cut a sliver of brilliance through the pervasive gloom. A rat skittered away somewhere up above as they climbed.

"This place  _ could  _ use a little fixing up, but...I don't know, it's got kind of a cool vibe, don't you think? The acoustics are nice too. Neat echo. Very dramatic."

The wall-mounted, almost helix-like nature of the stairs meant they had little concept of how many stories they had actually climbed as they spiraled up higher into the inner workings of the bridge.

As they approached the top of the stairs, the rusty hatch announced their arrival to nobody at all with a slow, loud, ominous creak, opening out into a very wide, very empty room. The ceiling was so far up above them that it gave the impression of an ancient, abandoned cathedral, and the faint sounds of cars outside sounded distorted and distant, as though they were impossibly high up. Dust bunnies floated in the air, and the corroded floor creaked loudly with every footstep as they advanced, echoing throughout the space and breaking the strange quiet in the massive room.

"Wow…! This place is so much bigger than I thought it was! The atmosphere is cool, it's solitary, secretive, like a comic book, you know?" Launchpad commented.

Drake ran his hand over the enormous shutters along one wall, looking around for a switch or a bar that might open them. "Hey LP, do you know how to open something like this...?"

Launchpad swept his flashlight around for a minute, looking for something, then settled on an enormous lever.

"One sec, I'm on it!" 

He tucked the flashlight under his arm and grabbed the lever with both arms, throwing his weight against it. It resisted at first, years of rust refusing to budge, but after a bit of metallic screeching protest he got it to move with the grating of grinding gears hidden away somewhere. The shutters slowly slid and shuddered open, revealing a sprawling, almost bird's-eye view of the city from what was likely the very top of the Audubon Bay Bridge.

The sunlight flooded into the room and they both stood there, amazed at the view, looking out as the wind blew through the open shutter, ruffling their feathers.

"Wow...I mean...wow! Just look at that view..." Launchpad breathed.

Drake gasped, looking out at the skyline. They could see the highway, the streets below, and out into the bay. "It's breathtaking... I've never seen such a view of the city..."

"St. Canard is so beautiful from up here...it's almost easy to forget how gorgeous the city is after cleaning up its trash all day..." Launchpad sighed, leaning out the window a tiny bit and taking a deep breath. The air up here was refreshing, despite the dust in the room. He smiled out at the city, and his eyes were full of a soft kindness. "This is what we're doing it all for...protecting all these citizens. Just think, thousands of innocent people, going about their lives down there, in need of justice..."

"Everybody out there... just trying to live in this mess of a city... but it's not a horrible place, it’s like a gem that's been covered in muck and grime..." Drake whispered, as if speaking much louder would break some sort of spell, or someone would see them up here. "I feel almost like... I don't know, maybe it's corny, but this place is special."

"I don't think that's corny! I was thinking the same thing… it feels almost like it was waiting for us. All locked up and forgotten..." He grinned, reaching into his jacket pocket for the list holding it up for Drake to see and tapping the next thing on it that hadn't been crossed off yet: Secret Lair. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

Drake perked up almost immediately, his almost reverent need for silence seconds earlier forgotten. "Oh my gosh  _ yes _ ! You're right! It's perfect! It's a bit of a fixer upper, but it’s hidden, mysterious, hard to get to, spacious, and even has neat trapdoors!"

"Alright! I'll go ahead and check 'secret lair' off the list! This is...this is so cool! We're really doing this, huh?" He crossed his arms on the windowsill and leaned against it, looking out over the city. "I've been up in the clouds hundreds of times, but this view...it's something else. I could look at it all day."

Drake leaned against it beside him, resting his chin in his hands, watching the clouds fly over the city. His gaze slowly strayed to his companion, watching the breeze tease his hair, and that expression as he looked out over the city... a look of contentment that just felt... right. He felt his cheeks get hot, and after a moment that was longer than he realized, he tore his attention away. "Um, Right! We have our work cut out for us here!"

Launchpad laughed, and it was a genuinely lighthearted sound. He turned and put his hand gently on Drake's shoulder, smiling at him. "As long as we've got each other's backs it'll be a piece of cake. We make a heck of a team, DW."

"Yeah... I'm no expert in building, but I think it’ll be fun! Man, superheroes really do have to learn about all kinds of things..."

"Well of course! That's part of the fun, right? Learning new things, standing up for what's right, and most importantly, never giving up..."

"Heh, yeah. Though I meant learning to be garbage men, assembling toolkits, figuring out how to get supplies, learning chemistry, doing laundry and patching wounds, all that kind of stuff. Not really glamorous or anything!" Drake laughed to himself as he counted everything off on his hands. "Not that I'm complaining! It's that part of the adventure that you don’t see in TV shows. The bits that the writers think are boring so they safely tuck them offscreen, or that they force other characters to worry about while the hero has personal problems or something. Now uh, if we are going to fix this place up, I guess we better go finish earning our keep so we can afford to?"

"Oh, yeah! You're right. Sorry if I got carried away, heh. This is just all so exciting!" Launchpad was still smiling as he took one last look out the window, then walked over and pulled the lever again, slowly sliding them back into darkness as the shutters ground shut. "Let's come back here once we've got time to really get to work on it."

"No need to apologize, I really could have stood there all day." 

When Drake said this, Launchpad tilted his head ever so slightly and gave him a look. It wasn’t quite quizzical, but it was discerning. Something about the way Drake had said that…

It cemented it for him. He was indeed the perfect person to be Darkwing Duck. Drake loved Darkwing, but he cared about others more. He always acted like he put himself first, but it was clear in little things like that, his expression, his fondness for his hometown, his tendency to dive into danger beak-first, it all cemented it together in Launchpad’s mind. Drake really could become the perfect Darkwing Duck.

They were careful descending the steps and closing the trapdoor behind them, conscious of the fact that the place was probably not the most structurally sound. Even as they made their way back to the truck, Drake found himself thinking back to that view, and the expression on Launchpad's face in that moment when they were both looking out over the city together.

_ Secret Lair…? Check.  _ It was all coming together.

Launchpad was careful to conceal the exit behind the plywood after they got out, making sure it looked mostly undisturbed. He looked around at the trash piled up in the riverbed, as well as the old mattresses and appliances scattered in the empty field. Running back to the truck, he dropped off his tool bag and then came back, cracking his knuckles and gesturing grandly to the treasure trove of nasty refuse that surrounded them on all sides.

"So, where should we start? This place is a gold mine! Don't let Mr. McDee hear me say that though, or he'll buy all the garbage trucks in town." he chuckled _. _

"Well... let's get the stuff near the water's edge first so it doesn't pollute the river further. If we keep coming back here every few days, I bet we'll get a nice bonus for how much all this stuff weighs!”

His companion nodded, running back to the truck and grabbing a couple of industrial size trash bags and grabbers. He handed one to Drake and set to work going along the bank, picking up a variety of trash and random bric-a-brac.

"There's all sorts of stuff out here! Hey! Check it out!" He laughed, holding up a torn, extremely sun-faded issue of an old Darkwing Duck comic book. "It looks pretty worse for wear, poor thing. I almost feel bad tossing it!"

Drake stopped from where he was rooting through a pile of old cans and swollen trash bags, standing up to stretch when he glanced over at the comic Launchpad was holding up. It was in terrible condition, but physically intact. "If you want to keep it, I won't stop you... maybe we could decorate the secret lair with it!"

Satisfied with this answer, Launchpad shook the dust and muck off of the old comic and rolled it up, tucking it in his back pocket. An idea for what to do with it was already forming in his mind.

As Drake picked up a couple more bags and tossed them back towards the truck, moving one revealed some rotten, sprouting potatoes. Their sprouts reached upwards, but they were wet and soggy and very clearly no longer identifiable as vegetables. Their smell permeated the air, and he almost fell back, gagging. "Oh! Gross! I can stand a lot of smells, but that's pungent!"

Launchpad too, recoiled as he approached to investigate what smelled awful enough to shake Drake. "Ugh! Attack of the Zombie Potatoes! Jeez, that smell is really somethin’ else! Too bad we can't use it as a weapon, huh?" He laughed, but Drake had other ideas.

"Well... maybe we can..." Drake mused as he carefully picked them up with his grabber...then dumped them into one of the bags and tied it off immediately, tossing it as fast as he could. "But not from these! Eugh!!"

"Ugh, no thanks! We'd knock ourselves out before we even got close to the villains! Do you need to take a breather?" He looked up from the pile of confetti he was trying to scoop awkwardly into the bag and gave him a worried glance. "You look a little pale."

"I'll be alright. But pfooh!! Wow! You could really knock somebody out with that, you know?" Drake stopped for a moment to take a long breath, savoring the salty air despite the omnipresent trash smell. "Okay, yeah, I'm fine. What's next?"

Launchpad hefted his bag, which was getting pretty full, and tied it off, hurling it into the truck _.  _ “Actually, why don’t we stop and see how far we got? I’m sure we’ve made a huge impact by now!” Turning around, he surveyed the landscape as he clapped his hands together in satisfaction. After a beat, he sighed. "Okay, well, maybe it’s not by much. We uh... we have a long way to go." 

But Drake wasn’t so easily discouraged. He found the immense amount of work stacked before them motivating, rather than discouraging. "Hey! Look on the bright side! That gives us a good reason to come back here and work on the secret lair right? Nobody will suspect a thing if we're out here picking up trash too! It's the perfect cover! We'll be practically invisible~" He posed, brandishing some rusty pasta tongs, then cleared his throat for a superhero declaration.

"I am the terror that cleans up the trash! I am the family heirloom unearthed in a broken refrigerator!"

Launchpad posed alongside him, his enthusiasm renewed. "I am the terror that scrubs the stains from the old concrete! I am the broken glass that pokes through the trash bag of crime!" He took Drake's free hand and lifted it high into the air, giving him a brief, meaningful glance.

"We are Darkwiiiiing Duck!" Drake’s grin spread wide across his face. "Evildoers, beware! You cannot stop our climb to the top of the dumpster tower of greatness!"

Shaking his other fist at imaginary evil-doers, Launchpad spoke dramatically, though he still held Drake's hand clasped gently in his other. "No vile refuse is safe from our watchful eye! We shall not rest until the city is safe from the tyranny of filth and villainy!"

Drake shifted his hand so their fingers were interlaced, so he could hold on, putting one foot up on a broken cooler dramatically before he continued.

"Villainy and grease stains alike! Rust, schemes, and outdated magazines, do your worst! You can't stop this team!"

Launchpad glanced up at him, framed in the late afternoon sun, looking as fearless and heroic as ever, and then he looked down at their hands, laced together. He found the heat rising to his cheeks because of how right it felt, to be holding him steady, the warmth of his palm, the softness of his feathers...

It made him feel like everything was right in the world and it was always going to be. He looked up at Drake again, and realized it was his turn to say something.

"Uh, dirt and dust and...er...slime beware! We've got...gloves! And we're here to...to clean up crime!" he finished awkwardly, trying to cover for his previously drifting thoughts.

Luckily for Launchpad, Drake was also running out of material. "Uh- hm... watch out dust bunnies, crooks, and baking grease! You're running out of time!"

He heard cars passing on the road above them and climbed down, laughing uneasily. "Still, we better uh, dump this load before the dump closes..." He didn't want to let go of Launchpad's hand, but did so reluctantly, blushing.

"Maybe we should uh, do some scheming of our own tonight...." Launchpad offered, trying to change the subject, though he wasn't sure from what.

"Yeah, haha… that s-sounds like a plan..." Drake mumbled, avoiding his gaze, and Launchpad suddenly felt apprehension bubble up in his throat.

Why did Drake suddenly get so nervous? They were just doing the same thing they always did...

Had he… done something weird? Made him uncomfortable or bothered him somehow? He tried to shove those thoughts away as he checked his watch. "You're right about the dump closing, looks like we've only got about forty-five minutes left! We should be able to make it if we hurry though."

An awkward air hung about them, and conversation was short for most of the afternoon. Drake didn't know what to say or what to think, even that night as they drew out infiltration plans for the power station, or gathered up pieces for useful Darkwing gadgets. It wasn't bad or uncomfortable, it was more that something was left unsaid between them, and Drake couldn't find the words for it. 

He didn't even have words for it later that night when they sat side by side on the couch drawing up plans, nor did he find them buried in Launchpad's arm as he pressed his cheek feathers against it in drowsiness when the evening drew in close around them. He certainly didn’t have them as they both dozed off together once again. As they leaned against one another, they were bathed in the ambiance of the Darkwing Duck theme song as it played in an endless unwatched loop on the DVD menu, casting soft white and purplish lights across the darkened living room.

They woke up feeling unusually refreshed the next day and expanded their search, hitting the east part of town. As they fleshed their map out further, they took note of several oddities; there were a few oddly misplaced storm drains, as well as a warehouse with a worrying amount of mannequin parts in the dumpster. They decided to investigate if anything else weird came up.

After another day of garbage hauling, Drake sat cross-legged on the kitchen floor trying to pour powder into collapsible capsules. "Did we get almost everything on the infiltration tool list?"

Launchpad was lost in thought at that moment, but he started at the sound of Drake's voice, checking the list in his hand.

"Oh! Er… let's see… we've got most of it covered… rope, insulated gloves, smoke bombs..."

He glanced at the capsules.

"Are those the new formula for the gas gun pellets? How are they coming along?"

"Yeah..." Drake answered, not looking up as he tried to keep the measurements equal. "Well, since we don’t have a gas gun, I have to think about how to make them work the same way the smoke bombs do. Basically, we have to load each one so it doesn't actually react until after -- well, in the show, it would be not reacting until the gas gun is fired. Since we don’t have one, we can’t have it react until the pellet is slammed down on the floor or wall or whatever surface we use as what breaks the shell. If it reacts before,  _ boof _ , either you or I get a face full of our own gas. So... yeah..." He explained as he sealed it off carefully, placing it with the others.

Launchpad mused on this for a moment. It made sense, but it also sounded complicated. “Wow, and you’re making all of that yourself?”

Drake shook his head. "To be honest, I actually found that tip online. Would you believe that there's actually a guy on the message boards who writes about stable compounds and their practical uses for crime fighting? I said I'd report back after testing with field results."

"You know, it would be cool to do sleep ones or itch ones, or paralysis gas too... but obviously that can be for later..." Launchpad offered, almost sheepishly, He didn’t want to pile too much work on him. After all, Drake admitted he was still a beginner at chemistry, and was mostly just treating it like cooking at this point. 

"Yikes, yeah, we should probably play it safe until we've tested these ones for a while and worked out the kinks. Wouldn't want one of those others backfiring in the middle of a fight! I'll make a note of that." The smaller duck scribbled a few more thoughts on the notepad, then paused to look it over. "There, I think that just about covers it, unless you can think of anything we missed?"

After sealing up all of the capsules, Drake lined them up, surveying everything they had laid out to take with them. He gave Launchpad a little self-satisfied nod, and packed it all up.

"No, I think that's it! I'll clean everything up while you get suited up and then we'll be ready to roll out!" As he spoke, Launchpad shot him a thumbs up and a broad smile, but it seemed a tiny bit more reserved than usual.

It wasn't that Launchpad was lacking any of his trademark enthusiasm for Darkwing Duck or their nightly activities; it was simply that he was still preoccupied.

His mind was full of concerns and conflicting feelings that he didn't have time or energy to dedicate to sorting out right now. Not when there was evil afoot and a city to clean up.

Drake rushed to get dressed and pack up their new utility kits, triple checking that everything was indeed in order. They would need some refining, but for now it could work. When he emerged, he shot Launchpad a determined smile. "All right! Our first infiltration!" 

"Yes! Spy guy style! Darkwing meets Double-O Duck! Double the duck, double the danger!"

After Drake joined him, they posed together for another selfie, and Launchpad grinned, holding up an imaginary gas gun. He looked around the kitchen for imaginary enemies before rolling across the room, picking up his gear bag, which was waiting by the door. Crouching to enhance the spy-style effect, he leaned over, opening the front door, holding it wide with a grand gesture and a smirk.

"After you, DW, I insist."

"Let's go thwart a supervillain!"

~☆~ 

As they approached the old power station, the lights were on inside. Clearly, something was indeed afoot. Perhaps something nefarious, even. 

Launchpad made a complex series of hand motions and gestures, then rolled several times, despite the fact that they were already well-concealed and there was nobody around to see them. He backed up against the wall behind a few bushes, setting down the gear bag and unzipping it, whispering excitedly to Drake.

"Lights are on! Somebody's definitely home."

"Okay,” Drake took a small breath. Time to go over the plan. “So the goal is we flip that reverse polarity switch and find a way to catch the bad guy, since he basically was blown away last time. If we can tie him up, maybe we can leave him at the station with a note or something. If all else fails, we throw the master power switch, and work under cover of darkness!"

Launchpad caught sight of a maintenance ladder on the side of the building and had an idea. "Hey! What if we use that ladder to drop in on him from the roof? It's only fair, right? Besides, that way we'll maintain the element of surprise! Spy guy style, right?"

"Let's do it! Actually, I was thinking, once we're in, I provide the distraction, you go for the switch! Together, we can do this! Let's get dangerous!"

Getting inside was easy enough, and the eerie sparking of the huge, menacing machine was enough to illuminate the large central room regardless of the general gloom in the building. Drake made sure he got close to the central area before appearing in a burst of blue smoke.

"I am the terror that flaps in the night! I am the extra service charge that was added to your power bill for no reason! I am Darkwing Duck!"

Once inside, Launchpad crawled along the floor, sticking to the shadows, glad for the practice...no, the training he had gotten playing that Double-O Duck VR game with Dewey. 

The villain (definitely the same one, they noticed, who had announced himself as Megavolt, the Darkwing comic book villain during their first encounter) turned from the controls of his machine, an enormous lightbulb sparking to life behind him and filling the room with light. Launchpad barely had time to dive behind a box of unused electrical parts before Megavolt called out to Darkwing. 

"What? You! I remember you! You're that guy that blasted me off that rooftop! You set me back almost a whole week on my work! Who do you think you are showing up here?!"

"Ah, so you remember me! Yes, I won't let you continue to terrorize the people of this city! I'm here to pull the plug on your evil schemes!" Darkwing retorted. He adjusted his hat and threw his cape dramatically before pausing. "You  _ are _ scheming, and you  _ are _ up to no good, right?"

He paced, intentionally trying to buy time for Launchpad. "I mean of course you are! Whatever you're… scheming, it's time for lights out!"

Launchpad worked his way carefully (and as stealthily as he possibly could) over to the enormous switch, only to find that instead of being labeled POLARITY, the large, imposing switch was now labeled POWER and the options were MORE or WAY MORE. It was currently set to the first option.

He stared at it for a moment, scratching his head, then glanced at DW, giving him a confused gesture at the switch and a complex hand motion that he hoped he would correctly interpret as 'stall for more time, I'm gonna look for another way to shut it off'.

Meanwhile, Megavolt laughed. "Oh, you're gonna stop me? What, all by yourself this time? Where's your friend? Did he ditch you after you blew him up?"

Darkwing’s attention was divided between interpreting Launchpad’s frantic gesture, and Megavolt himself _. Distraction _ ? For however long? He could do that. After all, dramatic monologuing really was an important part of comic book skills. “Don’t try to change the subject! None can stop the impetuous, the daring, the new nemesis of evil on the block!” Emboldened, he tipped his hat forward in a cocky motion and continued. “I don’t know who you actually are, if you’re actually Megavolt, or what dastardly plans you have, but consider yourself thwarted before we even start! Or… started, hoo boy. Look, let’s just do the whole thing where we fight and you swear vengeance upon me and all that stuff.”

Launchpad pulled away a metal panel, revealing a mess of boards and wires. Sneaking closer, he started pulling out random wires as soon as he could get near enough to one of the consoles.

That was totally safe, right?

The answer was a resounding ‘nope’. After the first electric shock, Launchpad remembered the thick rubber gloves stashed in his pocket for just this sort of occasion and pulled them out, slipping them on with as inconspicuous a squeak as he could manage before continuing his attempts at sabotage. He was relieved to find that they did their job well; they insulated him from the shocking effects of the machine’s wires and sockets, and he was glad for the extra layer of protection. Though if he was being honest, the stretchy, brightly colored dishwashing gloves  _ did  _ cramp his super cool spy-guy style and make him feel just a bit silly. Oh well, that couldn’t be helped. There was work to be done, and Drake was counting on him! This was no time to worry about fashion!

He could hear them exchanging witty quips but knew he only had so much time. As he sidled around the back of the machine, he stayed out of sight, moving carefully until he tripped over something and landed flat on his face. He sat up, rubbing his beak, and looked down to find what he had tripped over: an enormous power cable running out of the device. It snaked back along toward the wall and ended in a ridiculously huge socket, plugged into a massive wall outlet. 

This must be how he was draining the city's power! Wrapping both arms around the power cable and bracing his feet against the wall, Launchpad tugged on the giant cord. After a few seconds of effort, it came free with a startling POP! and the whole room was plunged into darkness with the whirring sound of dying machinery.

The sudden blackout was almost comical. The room went dark instantly. Drake blinked for a few seconds, then chased after the less-familiar pair of glowing eyes in the darkness, running in circles around the device a few times, even after some cable trip-and-falls and loud clatters, he managed to climb on top of something despite sticking his hand into an exposed panel and getting a nasty shock (wow, these really needed better insulation).

He got the jump on the assailant in the dark, tackling them to the ground as he leapt forward. It certainly didn’t feel like Launchpad that he was squirming on top of! In their blind grappling, he accidentally grabbed the plug on his head, which...somehow actually  _ was  _ electrified despite appearing to be nothing more than glorified fashion-disaster headgear. It zapped him thoroughly enough to give him what one would be unmistaken to call a “free x-ray”; his skeleton was flashed to the whole room in clear, vivid detail as he was jolted by the electricity flowing through his body.

Rushing around from behind the machine, Launchpad made quick work of grabbing Megavolt, pulling him out from beneath Drake and holding him firmly at arms’ length with the rubber gloves to give his companion a chance to recover and tie the villain up properly. 

“What are you…?! Rubber gloves?! No! My spark! Argh! Unhand me you… you….!”

Drake coughed, a tiny ring of smoke escaping his beak to float up into the darkness. “Seems like it’s time to switch to solar power, mister uh…”

“Megavolt!” He corrected him. “I told you last time! Don’t you pay attention to the monologues!? And besides...! You dropped in on  _ me _ ! This is  _ my  _ secret lair! That I’m rebuilding! From scratch!”

“Oh, right! Really,  _ Megavolt _ ? Like the comic villain? That’s really what you’re going all in on as your supervillain identity? Well, let’s be more energy efficient next time! Yeah, I’ll have to work on my threatening electricity puns.”

For what it was worth, neither of them were fried by the electricity beyond a bit of static from pulling out stray wires, and surprisingly, their plan had worked. Dropping off a very angry and tied-up Megavolt at the steps of the police station and calling it in anonymously, the journey home was victorious for the most part.

“You know; I didn’t think it would actually work! No big death buzz saws! Just a little shock, no big deal! That was great! What say you to victory dinner? Whatever you want!” Darkwing was all smiles.

"Oh, no way! Can we do burritos from that one place?" 

This really was their most successful mission yet; neither of them had any serious injuries, they caught the bad guy, did what they thought to be a major service to the city, and their teamwork was getting smoother than ever! It really seemed like things were starting to come together. Once they got the secret lair set up and a few more gadgets worked out, it would be smooth sailing. 

They really could get dangerous, and be safe doing it! It was unironically the coolest thing Launchpad had ever done. 

After picking up the food, they headed back to the apartment to celebrate their achievement with a victory dinner and some Pep, maybe go over some plans for the new hideout. It was shaping up to be a very long, very fun night.

There was still a bit of static in the air, well, mostly just the air surrounding Darkwing, who got a little shock every time he touched a doorknob, or the handrail while taking the stairs back up to the apartment. He made some comment about needing to be grounded, including when he unlocked the door and nearly collapsed onto the carpet, holding his phone until it seemed to charge to full battery from his touch, and the electricity around him finally fizzled out.

“Yeah, let’s switch to solar....” He mumbled, relieved to be free of the electricity. 

“Okay, okay, I’m okay. Worth it! Static is still better than a foot full of thorns! Maybe! Maybe, because I didn’t have to take the stairs with the thorny foot. Anyway, whatever!” He said, pulling off the hat and mask, reaching for a discarded sweater without getting up. “That was awesome, and I feel like we’re really getting it together, LP! Villain captured count 2, and big beefy burrito dinner count 1!”

Already in his comfy sweater and halfway through a beefy burrito, Launchpad made a pleased sound of agreement. Eyeing Drake's phone he swallowed his mouthful of burrito and wiped his hands off, pulling out his own.

"Oh! Hey! I never sent you those pics from our first mission...should I... uhhh...send them now or wait until your phone er...is done charging...?" He gave Drake an awkward, half-apologetic smile.

“Yeah, sure! I’d love to see them! Maybe I’ll print them out, put them with the newspaper clipping, you know? It’ll be like a keepsake.” Drake continued to lay there on the floor for a few more seconds, before he finally got up, unbuttoning and draping his cape over the back of the sofa, he grabbed a burrito, leaning on the kitchen table. He smiled and let out a relieved sigh, biting into his burrito. “I feel like… I don’t know, like we got this. We really are starting to get this together. So! Secret lair plans too, what do you think...?”

"Oh yeah! I was thinking we could…" Launchpad was already caught up in his next idea as he unlocked his phone, smiling at the picture he had set as his lock screen: his favorite selfie of the two of them posing heroically on that first mission. But his face fell as he saw a notification waiting for him: 

_ One missed call. _ His eyes grew wide. It was from Mr. McDee! He  _ never _ called himself. It was usually one of the boys, or Donald.

"Oh no! I'm gonna be in so much trouble!"

“Trouble?” Drake blinked, freezing mid-burrito-bite, the realization that Launchpad had originally just… offered to drive him home dawning on him.

An entire week had passed since then.

“Oh...do you need to head back to Duckburg…?”

As much as he didn’t intend it, worry and disappointment leaked into his voice. Why was he so disappointed that he would have to leave? It wasn’t like Launchpad could just stay forever. He had gotten so caught up in the whole superhero-team-new-life situation, that he had selfishly forgotten that his companion had other obligations. He had his own life.

"I... I don't know, I guess I... I mean, Mr. McDee  _ hates _ calling people, he only calls when it's really important… jeez, I've been gone for awhile, huh? I guess it… it hasn't felt like that long…"

Of course he had to go home to Duckburg. That was the plan all along, right? He had people waiting for him, and a job to do back home… he couldn't just leave everyone behind to come fight crime. Not just any crime, either, supervillain crime!  _ Super  _ crime. 

It's not even that he had thought about doing so; it had just seemed so… so natural to be here doing this with Drake that he hadn't even considered when he might go home…

Everything seemed to be coming together and now…

He stood up, looking around to gather his things and realizing he hadn't really brought anything with him. When he first arrived, he really hadn't planned on staying. He looked down at the sweater he was wearing and glanced at Drake.

"Oh...I should probably go change so I can give this back to you, huh? Sorry I... won’t have time to wash it."

“Oh no, you can keep it. I never wore it anyway. It was basically brand new sitting in my closet. You can keep it like a memento or something!” Drake rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. Something to remember him by, perhaps? “Um, yeah, here… let me at least walk you down to the garage. You know. It’s a dangerous part of town…” This was followed with a tiny forced laugh. 

He felt like...if Launchpad was leaving, he had to tell him! Tell him about all of those strange, mixed up feelings, everything that seemed to make all of this so important. Whatever it was that was on his mind when they stood alone at the top of the bridge, or the sheer joy that came with playing around, like they were kids again. 

There was a delight that came with scaling the stairs by Launchpad’s side, about the way that the couch was suddenly comfortable to sleep on if they collapsed leaning against each other. All of these feelings swirled inside him, aggressive and demanding to be heard, occupying his mind and overwhelming his heart... 

But he didn’t really have any words for it.

It felt selfish.

Launchpad had his own life, and he was here helping Drake put his own back together after a rough spot. Bring back some fun. That was...all, wasn’t it?

He knew it wasn’t, but he told himself it was.

"Okay… okay, yeah. I'd… like that." Launchpad would take any further excuse to spend more time with Drake, even if it was just delaying their goodbyes.

Gathering up the framed photo of Jim Starling, he grabbed his small bundle of unwashed clothes and tossed them into the small duffel bag he brought up from the limo when he first arrived. He put the frame carefully on top and zipped it shut. The bag was still pretty empty, but he hoisted it up on his shoulder anyway. It was...as full as it was gonna get. 

Why was his heart so much heavier than his bag? 

"Oh! The pictures!” He added, quickly flipping through their selfies. “They might take a minute to send, my service out here is terrible…." He took a moment, telling himself he wasn't stalling, sending all of the selfies to Drake. 

Looking at all the pictures again didn't make leaving any easier, and he heaved a sigh, forcing himself to shove his phone back in his pocket and put on a smile. It was heartfelt, but something in it was touched by sadness. "There! Hey, let me know which one's your favorite, huh? I guess it's time to head down to the limo now… one last training session? You and me vs. the stairs?"

Drake grabbed his keys after pulling on a regular shirt instead of his Darkwing Duck getup.

“Yeah, let’s do it. Let’s see if we can beat our best time yet, LP!” 

For what it was worth, he really tried to put his usual energy into descending the stairs, but at the same time, he wanted to make it last as long as possible. And why? It was the 21st century, it wasn’t like this was some solemn goodbye forever! He could just text him anytime.

Still, after such an epic adventure of a night, it felt like the wrong way to end it, and he refused to let himself say goodbye until they were standing in the parking garage. The buzzing and discolored fluorescent lights did nothing to lift the dour mood. 

“Put it there, hero,” Drake said as he held a hand up for a fist bump, trying to be a lot cooler than he felt.

Launchpad bumped it and blew it up, then after he put his bag in the trunk he stood by the driver's side door, steadfastly refusing to open the door. He wasn't quite ready yet. 

"So uh, the secret lair… be careful if you go up there on your own. Those stairs and floors are uh… not the most stable and… y'know, just be careful." He paused, and the pause stretched on a little too long. He felt like there was something important he needed to say, something he'd been trying to find the words for all week. "Drake, listen I...thanks. For letting me crash here, and...you know, for being so cool." 

That didn't even come close to covering it but it was a start.

“Yeah, uh, I’ll be careful…” Drake also wanted to say something else, it was nagging at him, but the words still refused to come, and he just looked down at the pavement. “You too. Text me about all your adventures with Mr. McDuck sometime… or let me know when you update one of your fics. I’ll totally read it. And comment. And share it with everybody I know. Thanks for coming. And crime fighting. And everything.” 

Those weren’t the words he wanted to say, but it was all he could think of. 

"I definitely will. Hey, technically I'll be writing fanfics about  _ you _ now, right? I'll need inspiration!" Launchpad laughed gently, offering him a small smile. "I'm...I'm really glad I caught you at the bus station. This has been...a lot of fun. I'll...try to visit again soon if I can, okay?" He looked a bit uncertain. Mr. McDee wasn't big on vacation time, especially since most of their treasure hunting more or less amounted to what he considered working vacations. Launchpad knew it was time to go, but he really, really didn't want to get in the car.

Finally, he couldn't take it anymore and wrapped Drake up in a brief but enormous hug, lifting him off the ground. He tried to put all the things he couldn't find the words for into that hug, and when he put him down he gave him one last sheepish grin.

"I'll...see you later. If there's trouble...I'll call you, DW."

Drake held onto him tightly within the hug, internally grateful that Launchpad had done so, even as he felt the ground vanish from beneath him. It gave him another moment to hold on, to try not to let go, as if they were falling from the sky together and as long as they held on, everything would be okay. Wasn’t everything supposed to be okay? It was an amicable departure; why, then, was it feeling like so much more? Why was something in his heart reaching out, so desperately, for more…?

“Yeah… I know I can trust you to get dangerous. See you later. Keep fighting for what’s right...”

Drake started waving even as the lights turned on and the limo started to back away. He continued to wave even as he witnessed it swerving to dodge other parked cars in the garage. 

He stood there until the sound of the receding car had long since faded. There were sirens in the distance. Nearby, someone was having a heated argument on their phone. Drake crossed his arms, trying to remind himself what that hug felt like, trying to capture the feeling of it. The sound of a distant car alarm snapped him out of his daze, and he slowly began his trek back up to his apartment. 

He tried to keep that upbeat energy that he’d had earlier that night, riding the high of their mission, humming to himself as he put away the gear and wrote some memos to send to  _ CrackshellBlatherskite _ on the forum about his findings. When he opened his phone to send it though, he saw the uploaded photos from Launchpad. In the first picture, the both of them were grinning at the camera, posing, even leaning on each other pointing finger guns at the imaginary villain viewer. 

Even though he had just eaten less than an hour earlier, Drake Mallard ordered a pizza. 

Meanwhile, Launchpad McQuack was not often a duck of many thoughts. But as he drove, he found himself thinking only of Drake, and their adventures and how cool it all was. An entire hour had passed before he even realized he hadn't bothered to call Mr. McDee back, and he pulled off of the side of the road in a panic, taking out a stop sign as he parked. 

He pulled his phone out, but as he did he was met with the 8-bit Darkwing Duck theme that made up his ringtone. He found himself tearing up at the sound of it, though he couldn't say precisely why, and he took a deep breath to steady himself before he answered. 

To his surprise, it was not Mr. McDee calling to fire him; It was his best friend Dewey.

~☆~ 

Dewford Duck was not used to being the bad guy. In this moment, he sure felt like one, hoping that Launchpad not picking up the phone earlier didn’t mean he was mad at them for not inviting him on their last two treks. He just hadn’t been around for a few days. He didn’t want to bother him!

He sat cross legged on the bed, listening to the ringtone, while his brothers hovered close enough to the phone to hear, and Webby hung over the bunk above, (on his actual bunk, as he was currently sitting on Louie’s) while Della gave him an awkward thumbs up from the other side of the bed that he assumed was an attempt at encouragement. She was still pretty new at this ‘being a mom’ thing, but she was nothing if not supportive. __

“Hey, LP...you doing okay? Uncle Scrooge was just uh...trying to get a hold of you. But you can totally talk to me, you know? You’re not mad or anything...right?” He sucked on his teeth. He always wanted everyone to be happy with him, basically all the time, but Launchpad’s approval mattered more to him than most people’s did.

Launchpad let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. 

"No way, Dewey! I could never be mad at you! I'm sorry if you were worried, I didn't mean to be gone for so long, I was just...I had some stuff to handle out of town and...is Mr. McDee gonna fire me?"

The anxiety crept into his voice even though he was trying to stay calm. He didn't want Dewey to worry about him. 

Up on the top bunk, Lena elbowed Violet in the ribs and whispered. "Bet you ten bucks he was with purple guy all week." 

“Deal,” said Violet. “I bet he’s been on a mission with secret agents. Statistically speaking, he is the person least likely to be picked for a stealth mission, which makes him the best choice, because no one would suspect him.”

Huey pulled out his Junior Woodchuck Guidebook and was flipping through the section on Personal Relationships, trying to find something useful. It wasn't going well. Everyone looked expectantly at Dewey, who was trying his best, if not awkwardly, to remain casual. This was a lot of pressure for a budding star to be under!

“Uh, well no, Uncle Scrooge isn’t going to fire you. Actually, this is kind of about Mom. You see…uh, she knows you care a lot about the plane, and....” He squinted at Della, trying to make sense of the hand signals that she was feeding him to say. He put a hand over the phone.

“What’s that supposed to be, tornado motion? Blender? Bike motion? Explosion?! I’m not gonna say that, I’m trying to be nice here--”

“But she wanted to spend some time flying too, so we were wondering if it would be okay, you know, maybe if it was or wasn’t something you might want--”

Louie looked at his watch. He decided earlier that week to start wearing a watch. Smart guys wore watches so they could look at the time and be on their phones at the same time, he had decided. Smart guys made a lot of decisions too. (That was also something he had decided.) This was taking forever! He snatched the phone, getting fed up with how long everything was taking.

“Launchpaaaad, heyyyy! Louie, you know, the  _ best  _ triplet here. Look, what Dewey is trying to say is that Mom bought him the new Gizmoduck vs. Kaiju monster game so he would call you and tell you that we locked up--I mean,  _ convinced _ Uncle Scrooge to give you a paid vacation, so Mom can take us on cool adventures and make up for the years of trauma and separation by giving us new and exciting traumas instead. So if you’re okay with that, just let us know where you are, globally speaking, for insurance and  _ definitely  _ not gambling purposes, and we all miss you very much! But we, as your friends, know that you’re also an adult with your own life.”

Della Duck stared at her son Llewellyn, mouth agape for a moment, before face-palming and banging her head against the bedpost. Webby jumped off the top bunk and glared daggers at Louie, which, all things considered, he was probably lucky she didn't happen to have any actual daggers on her in that particular moment.

She snatched the phone out of his hand, speaking gently into it while Dewey crossed his arms and sulked. "Hey! That's  _ my _ phone and  _ my _ best friend!"

Webby just waved him off, trying to preemptively comfort Launchpad, who was still processing everything that Louie said _. _

"Launchpad? Are you okay? Listen, it's not that we don't want you around, of course we love having you on adventures with us! You're part of our family! But some time off can be good too…" 

There was a pause, and Webby bit her lip. "Launchpad…?"

Something had finally registered about everything they had said.

"I... I’m getting time off? Like...like a vacation? Does that mean I don't have to come back to Duckburg right away?" 

Mr. McDee  _ NEVER _ gave vacations. It was unheard of. It wasn’t even a dream come true because he wouldn’t have ever dared dream of such a thing.

Webby hesitated. "Uh, yeah! It's a paid vacation! You can do whatever you want with the time. You don't have to spend it here in Duckburg! You can go somewhere exotic, or visit an old friend or…" 

There was a note of urgency in Launchpad's voice as he asked his next question. 

"Can I spend it in St. Canard?"

Webby shrugged, looking around at the others, who had all gathered close to listen.

"Sure, I don't see why not…?"

There was a slight pause, then a loud whoop of sheer joy from Launchpad’s end of the line.

"Sweet! If anyone needs me, I'll be at Drake Mallard's place! Oh! Tell Mr. McDee and Dewey's Mom that I said thanks! Thanks a lot! And uh, tell Dewey I said have fun bonding and stuff! Bye!!" There was a click, and the line went dead. Everyone stared dumbfounded at the phone for a minute before Lena broke the tension with a fist pump _. _

"Yes! Called it! Purple guy is totally LP's type." 

Della looked like she was about to open her mouth and give Louie the grounding of a lifetime when there was a distant crashing sound. Huey turned to give Dewey an accusatory stare.

"You  _ did _ tell Uncle Donald to stay away from that closet in the hallway, didn't you…?" 

The crash was soon followed by a nonstop string of angry alliterative Scottish noises.

They all looked toward the door, then at each other.

Oh well, the deed was done. Launchpad was on vacation and Della was free to adventure with her kids for a while.

They could calm Uncle Scrooge down eventually.

~☆~ 

Drake Mallard told himself he wasn’t sulking.

In fact, he told himself three slices of pizza ago he wasn’t sulking, and now he was laying on his floor, staring up at the ceiling, kitchen light still on, his face half illuminated by the energy-efficient lightbulb, half awash in the dull shifting colors from the TV that was now playing the 3rd season Darkwing Duck ending theme on the DVD menu for what was probably the eighth time.

There was always an awkward gap in the loop as the DVD reloaded, the animations of the menu montage restarting just half a second off beat.

_ Can you get any more pathetic, Drake? _ He thought to himself. Was he really spiraling into some sort of melodramatic depression because the best person who ever walked into his life just left to go back to his own, very real life?

Oh, yes he was.

_ I don’t really want to be Darkwing Duck by myself! I can’t really do it by myself! I’ll just get beat up, which is whatever, but I’m just a stupid nerd who never grew up playing superhero by myself… _

He zoned out for a while.

_ I should buy some boots. Launchpad wears boots. Who decided that most ducks don’t wear shoes, anyway? Seriously… _

“Da-da-da-da...who’s that cunning mind behind the shadowy disguise…” he mumbled along with the TV, unmoving, burning the shapes and patterns of the popcorn ceiling into his mind.

Okay, maybe he was doing a  _ tiny _ bit of sulking. 

~☆~ 

After he hung up the phone, Launchpad sat in the car in silence for a moment, almost in a state of shock. Then he let out a loud laugh full of glee and something that could have passed for disbelief. As he glanced back down at his lock screen and smiled at the picture there, his face settled into triumphant determination and he threw the car in reverse and began driving back toward St. Canard.

He drove like the devil himself was chasing him.

Evening was just beginning to fall over St. Canard as Launchpad arrived.

He parked, if it could be called parking. The sound of his front fender meeting the concrete of the parking structure set dogs barking in half the neighborhood, but he didn't care. It took half a second to grab his bag and lock the limo before he was tearing up the stairs, his heart pounding out of his chest, not just from exertion. 

He was surprised to find the door unlocked, and he threw it open, half in anticipation at seeing Drake again, half in worry to make sure he was okay. (He was gone a full two hours and change, after all!) The door banged noisily against the wall, and Launchpad was going to say something but he was out of breath from sprinting up the stairs. He had to just stand in the doorway for a moment, breathing heavily, hands on his knees, trying desperately to catch his breath so he could tell Drake the good news and ask if he would let him stay a bit longer.

When the door opened, Drake didn’t even move or look up--well, look elsewhere. He was already looking up, staring almost vacantly at the ceiling. “What, did I really leave the door unlocked? Take whatever you want, I’m protector of nothing, not even my nerdy apartment,” he muttered flatly.

He was riding high a few hours earlier, now he just missed Launchpad. Wow Drake, way to be pathetic, not even remotely functional without the guy who hung out at your apartment for like a week!

"Drake, buddy, I'm…!" He paused, taking in the state of the apartment, and seeing Drake laying on the floor, just staring at the ceiling. He looked terrible. Had something happened in the two or three hours he was gone?

"Woah, are you okay?"

There was a note of genuine concern in his voice.

“You know, I told the pizza guy--” He sat up, surprised to see Launchpad. 

“What the--how the -- uh, how did you get back up here? I thought you had to go back to Duckburg?”

"I did! I mean, I thought I did!" He looked around at the pizza boxes and general air of depression in the place. "Sorry, I know I probably should have called, but...I got a call on the way home…" He shrugged, suddenly feeling self-conscious, as though maybe he had acted too suddenly, maybe coming here hadn't been the right thing to do…he had already imposed on Drake for a whole week, he couldn't just barge into someone else's life like this…

"I uh...Mr. McDee gave me a paid vacation. My first one ever. I could hardly believe it! So anyway...uh...that means I'm going to be free for a while, so…" He fiddled with the strap of his duffle bag, feeling a bit awkward.

"If you don't mind, I could hang out some more, but if you're busy or...or have other plans or something... that's fine." 

This took a long moment to settle into Drake Mallard’s brain, as though he was hearing the words, but it wasn’t all registering. He opened his beak, then closed it, shook his head, then closed the pizza box next to him that he definitely hadn’t been using as a combination plate and table, absolutely not. 

“Wait, so you just decided to come back…? I-I mean! Of course you can stay! Are you really sure you want to spend your vacation...here?”

Launchpad just looked at him, like he didn't understand the question. At all.

"Uh, yeah? Of course I want to spend it here! Who knows when I'll get another chance like this! We can get the secret lair all fixed up for real! And think how much good we'll be able to do! Plus…" He smiled, rubbing the back of his head and looking away.

"I can't think of anywhere else I'd rather be. You're a lot of fun to hang out with." 

“Really?” Drake lit up upon hearing this. Really? This cool, exciting adventure duck and now his good friend (who he definitely didn’t have unaddressed feelings for, nope) wanted to stay here, at his place, in Saint Canard, for his entire vacation?

“Sure! Yes! That would be awesome! Stay as long as you want!” He looked around, then laughed a little awkwardly. “So...uh…? Pizza?”

Looking around at the various pizza boxes scattered about, (how many did Drake order in that brief time he was gone?) Launchpad laughed good-naturedly, putting his duffel bag down and grabbing a slice from the nearest box.

"Sure! Thanks!"

He took a bite, chewing thoughtfully for a minute before adding:

"Really…thanks a lot." 

He picked up the remote from where it lay, discarded haphazardly on the floor next to Drake, and sat on the couch, patting the spot next to him with an inviting smile.

"So, what, are you just wrapping up Season three? Oh, the Season four opener is pretty good! You wanna pick it up from where you left off…?" He offered him the remote with a grin.

“Oh yeah, sure. Um. About that, well, I mean, about Darkwing Duck…” 

Drake stretched, not willing to admit that he had been laying on the floor for the past hour and a half, and sat in the spot Launchpad indicated. “Are we… I mean, I don’t know, I was thinking about earlier tonight, how we really did it together. I felt...it was just, right? Maybe that’s cheesy.”

Launchpad put down the remote on the table and looked at him, unable to stop himself from smiling. "No, you're right! I was thinking the same thing. I know I keep saying it, but...we really do make a great team." He leaned his head back on the couch, studying the ceiling for a minute. "You know, I could probably stick around here for a while. Dewey's Mom has a lot of catching up to do, I wouldn't want to get in the way of their bonding time…" He glanced at Drake.

"I could even be like… your sidekick. If you want. I know… DW doesn't really have a sidekick, but…" He shrugged, rubbing his neck. "It could be cool, don't you think?"

Drake was silent for a pregnant moment before he spoke again. “I was thinking about that, actually. I mean...I think it feels right to do it together. But I don’t really think Darkwing Duck… well…” He trailed off, leaning his beak on his hands with his elbows propped up on his knees. 

“I don’t think he’s a sidekick kind of guy. And me? I don’t think I could use one either. It’d just be kind of weird…”

"Oh, jeez...yeah, what was I thinking?" Almost instantly embarrassed that he suggested it at all, Launchpad put a hand to his forehead. "Way to go, LP! Ugh...sorry! Obviously Darkwing Duck doesn't have a sidekick...that's like...his whole thing!" 

The larger duck sighed, suddenly losing all of the confidence that had brought him back here. "Maybe you're right, I might just be in the way...you know, if you want me to go back to Duckburg it's...it's really no big deal…"

He tried and failed to keep the hurt out of his voice. It was, in fact, a  _ very _ big deal. He had a sneaking suspicion that his ability to cause property damage wherever he went was catching up with him. Again.

He couldn't bear to look at Drake, and instead he just studied his hands. But Drake continued talking.

“Well, Jim’s Darkwing Duck was the lone wolf type. Stalking the night by himself and all that, but… well, not me. Maybe it’s just that I’m not strong enough or smart enough by myself, I don’t know. But I don’t have to be. That’s what makes the real Darkwing Duck able to exist at all. That we made him real. Together. You know, a really cool duck once told me that Darkwing Duck is bigger than one man. That he is the hope that flaps in the night. He told me I could do this for real.”

Drake stood, fidgeting a bit awkwardly. “So… what I’m saying is I don’t want a sidekick. What I really want is a partner.” 

He held out a hand to Launchpad, trying a bit  _ too _ hard to look cool. 

“So, what do you say?”

He cleared his throat.

“Launchpad McQuack, will you be Darkwing Duck’s partner?” 

Launchpad looked up, bringing a hand up to wipe away the side of his face. A now-confused tear just started to form there, and it was followed by a relieved sniffle. He thought he was being rejected, but this was an invitation! An invitation to something far greater. He stared at Drake for a moment. This was the last thing he had been expecting to hear, though it was also something he hadn't let himself realize he was hoping for either.   
  
Partner was about a hundred times cooler than sidekick! 

He slowly reached out and took Drake’s hand, a grin spreading over his face as he did.

"Through darkest night and untold dangers, I'll stay by your side, DW. Always." 

Letting the words hang in the air for a moment, he pulled Drake into an embrace.

Drake hugged him back, letting out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding in relief as he collapsed into his chest.

“Oh thank god. No really, if you said no I didn’t know what I was gonna do. There was no plan B, I was asking with zero backup there. Maybe I would’ve just lost it and ordered another pizza. You’re the best, LP.”

That was enough to earn a laugh from Launchpad, and the sound rumbled softly through his chest. __

"I thought you were gonna tell me to leave. Man, was I wrong. I think I might be kinda bad at reading people sometimes. Also…"

He leaned back a bit so he could look around, then look at Drake.

"I don't know how to tell you this, buddy, but I think you've had enough pizza for a while."

“What? No! I had, like, reservations about asking you, but mostly because I was worried you’d say no. I realized it’s not me, sure I dress up and I look cool and I catch bad guys, but it’s not me, it’s  _ us! _ Crazy of me, right? Asking my friend to spend all that time and energy playing superhero with me. As for the pizza, uh...yeah I got a little carried away. But hey! Breakfast!”

Launchpad only laughed again, finally releasing Drake onto the couch. 

"That's fair. I mean, cold pizza  _ is _ the breakfast of champions. And we  _ are _ champions. Champions of  _ justice _ !" 

He posed dramatically, smiling so hard he thought his beak might fall off, his spirits as high as ever. 

_ Partners.  _

He was staying here, in St. Canard! 

They were going to be Darkwing Duck...together! He flashed Drake a grin.

"Right, DW?”

Something about Launchpad smiling meant that everything was going to be okay. Somehow that made him happier than he’d ever been.

__ “You got it, partner!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! We've had some extra time to edit, so you'll be hearing from us again sooner than usual! Things will get plenty grim and gritty soon, and the villain next episode just HATES to be kept waiting, so stay tuned!


	4. Let's Get Chaingerous

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter heavily references the events of episode 16 of Season 2 of Ducktales 2017 and is like our spiritual sequel + love letter to that episode, so you probably want to go give it a watch if you haven't before reading this chapter. 
> 
> CONTENT WARNING- this chapter contains: descriptions of loud noises and static, multiple mentions of death, threatened violence, assault with a weapon, violence requiring hospitalization (cuts, broken bones, bruising), and a depressive episode.

And so the days went on.

Sure enough, somehow Launchpad’s paycheck was deposited as usual, though he swore he could hear Scottish grumbling all the way from Duckburg as he checked his bank account. How the Ducks had managed to trick Scrooge into it, he had no idea. Duckworth and Mrs. Beakley working together, perhaps...? But everyone knew such an arrangement was unheard of; almost as unlikely as Della and Donald getting along long enough to accomplish such a daunting task. Surely the children hadn’t arranged it all on their own? However it was that this odd fortunate quirk of UnScroogery had come about, Launchpad was glad for it. That very same day, he went out and bought new clothes; it seemed easier to just replace his usual ones than to go back and pack stuff up. Besides, he only needed a few more or less identical outfits. He had a style and he stuck to it. It was what worked for him. 

They spent the first few days hitting the garbage truck route hard, scouring the city, and sprucing up the secret hideout. By the end of the first week the shutters slid open beautifully without protest, and they stopped worrying about falling through the floor. It had a long way to go, but it was progress. 

As the end of the week approached and the weekend drew near, Launchpad pointed out an article in the local newspaper that had caught his eye.

"Awesome! Hey, DW, check it out!"

He had taken to calling Drake "DW" whether he was in or out of costume, especially when it was just the two of them (which it usually was), just as Drake had happily picked up the nickname LP for Launchpad in turn.

"The museum has a Darkwing Duck exhibit! And look! They're doing a special memorial event for Jim Starling… this weekend only! We've  _ gotta _ be there!"

Drake had been working hard all week, hitting the streets and gathering trash all day, chasing thugs and foiling schemes as Darkwing Duck at night. With their repeated success, (though they bumbled through most of their encounters,) his confidence (as well as his competence) was growing, and their reputation was as well. The compact apartment refrigerator was now peppered with a few tiny newspaper clippings and printouts of their selfies, and he leaned on the fridge door, taking a sip of his Pep. "What, really? That's so cool! You know, it would be nice to go and actually say goodbye… it could be some closure. Not just for us, but for the city too.” 

"Yeah...we never got a chance to pay our respects. I feel like we kinda owe him everything, if you think about it. Without him we probably wouldn't even know each other!” Launchpad mused on that for a minute, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms behind his head. "That's pretty wild, isn't it?"

"It really is something. The both of us watch this silly show as kids, and all kinds of stuff happens in the middle, and now here we are with a secret lair, my kitchen table is covered in designs for gadgets, we've even captured some real criminals! It's really all thanks to him! When does it open? Let's go!"

"Looks like they've got a special preview showing tonight! 6pm! Alright!" He grinned, checking his watch. "Only six and a half hours left to go! We better start getting ready soon!"

"So what are we waiting for? Let's go!" Drake grinned, snatching up his keys. "Care to try and beat our best times?"

"Do you even need to ask?" They sprang into action, getting ready and bolting their way down the stairs in record time. It turned out to be a good thing that they left so early; the lines were pretty long, though they moved really quickly.

Almost too quickly _. _

Launchpad regarded the crowd with a bit of concern. The line was becoming more like a congealed mob, filling the museum lobby despite the taped marks on the floor indicating where to stand in the most orderly fashion. The atmosphere of the room was aggressive in a way one wouldn’t expect at a museum, and irritated grumbling could be heard from multiple members of the crowd. "Man, people don't look very happy. I mean, I know it's a memorial, but...they almost look angry..."

They were nearly to the front of the line when a fan wearing a Darkwing Duck t-shirt stomped past them, muttering _.  _ "Ugh, this is  _ so unfair _ ! I waited forever! What a ripoff!"

Launchpad watched him go sadly, sighing and shrugging at Drake _.  _ "I guess people grieve in different ways..."

There was a burly rooster standing in front of the hallway entrance that led down to the exhibit, looking more bored than anything else. Drake navigated through the crowd, excusing himself until he got to the front. "Excuse me sir, what's going on...?"

The security guard sighed; clearly he had given this speech 30 times this afternoon.

"The Darkwing Duck Jim Starling Memorial exhibit has unfortunately closed. Don't worry, all the items will be on display at the next Comic Con, it'll be free to see everything, if you only bought a ticket to see the exhibit, you can get a refund at the front desk, or a free day voucher for a later date. Thank you for visiting the St. Canard Art and History Museum."

Drake shifted his bag on his shoulder, glancing at his watch. "Might I ask why it's closed? It looks like everything was set up..."

"It seems like some crazy superfan broke in and stole one of the show props. We've decided to close the exhibit until it can be properly investigated and so nothing else goes missing. If you ask me, it was probably somebody who just wanted to sell it on the internet."

"That's terrible. Well thank you for letting me know! Um, have a great rest of your day sir! I hope it's not too stressful!"

The guard sighed. "I'll try. Thank you. Thank you for visiting the St. Canard Art and History Museum."

Drake pushed his way back through the crowd to where Launchpad was waiting.

"Sounds like the exhibit was closed, somebody broke in and stole one of the props from the show!"

"Oh no! That's terrible! Who would do such a thing? And at Jim's memorial too?!" Launchpad asked, genuinely upset by the idea that someone would stoop so low. "Such villainy... this can only mean one thing! This is a job for Darkwing Duck!!"

Unbeknownst to Launchpad, in fact, unbeknownst to anyone at all, someone lurked nearby. Keeping to the shadows. Listening. Watching. Waiting.

His eye twitched as he heard the phrase. His grip tightened on the handle of his weapon.

Of course that fraud and his fan would show up here! And he had the  _ nerve  _ to…

Oh, if only he could destroy them right here, right now. End them. Roll credits.

But no. Patience.

There would be plenty of time for that soon enough.

A growl died in the silent figure’s throat as he slipped away toward the museum, vanishing into the crowd.

Drake nodded at Launchpad, realizing this was the perfect chance to do some old-school Darkwing sleuthing! "You're right! After the museum closes, we can sneak in and look for clues as to the thief, and where they may have gone. Maybe Darkwing Duck can track them down and return it! After all, this was Jim's stuff. It really feels like I never got to say goodbye..."

"I know what you mean..." His companion crossed his arms and frowned for a moment, then brightened. "Hey, this can be like we're doing him one final favor! Getting his stuff back from the thief! I'm sure Jim would want to share his legacy with the world. It's the least we can do after everything he's done for us."

"Hey, you're right! I hope... If you believe in the great beyond, maybe he's watching his legacy live on." He looked around at the crowd. "Well, it's a little busy to enjoy the museum. Care to head back and plan an infiltration?"

"Absolutely. This mission takes top priority until we solve the case!" His face set, Launchpad McQuack looked even more determined than usual. This robbery seemed to have sparked a fire in his belly.

~☆~ 

That night, the maintenance hatch at the top of one of the museum rotundas twisted open. Darkwing Duck lowered a rope down; slipping his wrist through a loop he had tied at one end, he eased himself and the rope down, hand over hand, into the room. Almost as soon as he was inside, he found himself face to face with a security camera. He almost kicked it in panic, but stopped, clinging tightly to the rope; he was still dangling quite a ways up. He squinted at the camera and noticed the power-indicator LEDs were all dark and powered off. 

Well, that was convenient.

"Hey LP," he whispered. "The emergency walkway lights are still on inside, but the security cameras are off....? It's weird." 

He slowly continued to lower himself down, surveying the hallway.

"The motion sensors look like they're off too, and I'm no master of breaking into places, they must've had some real budget cuts." Securing his tools, he looked down the hall towards the exhibit. "All clear, come on in."

Launchpad climbed awkwardly down the rope, but lost his grip about three quarters of the way down, catching himself just in time to avoid crashing noisily to the floor. He stepped down quickly, letting out a breath and whispering to Drake. 

"That grappling hook sure would come in handy, huh?"

"Yeah, I think we should get our hands on one. Usually I'm falling on my face," He said, pulling down the rope and gathering it up. 

The Darkwing Duck exhibit really was set up like a memorial. It had a history of the show, first-run comics and toys on display, various props from the show, and muted clips playing on repeat on the monitors around the room, displaying relevant scenes to whatever items were arranged nearby.

What really got Darkwing’s attention, however, was the Season 1 Darkwing Duck costume, mounted on a mannequin, displayed in front of one of the familiar backdrops from the original run of the show.

He approached it slowly, putting a hand on the glass divider mournfully. He lowered his head, trying to hold back a sniffle, ( _ come on Drake, keep it professional! _ ) as his own reflection gazed back at him between himself and the mounted costume. It seemed so simple mounted there, but it was elegant in its simplicity, like a sacred object, displayed in reverence. The subtle way the museum lights surrounded it drew the eye to it expertly and were designed to highlight its solemn importance with grace and dignity.

At any rate, it sure did feel like a sacred object to Drake.

"My hero..."

He stood there for a moment, taking it in, when he noticed the table of props beside it. Goggles, power gloves, smoke bombs, all displayed neatly with little informational placards beside them...but the raised glass case to the right of the costume was empty. The solitary pedestal behind it was bare, but the small, neatly labeled placard made it clear what was supposed to be there.

"The original Darkwing Duck gas gun! That's what was stolen...."

Launchpad came up beside him, taking in the costume, the set, the raw emotion of it all… 

He put a hand on Drake's shoulder, his eyes still lingering on the costume for a moment before glancing over at the missing prop.

"Jim...he really was  _ our _ hero, the hope that flapped in the night...and some scoundrel had the nerve to break in here and take his instrument of justice… if they sell it… or worse, if they use it as a weapon for evil..." He turned back to look at the costumed mannequin, a settled look of determination in his eyes. "Don't worry, Jim. We won't let you down. We'll make sure your legacy is safe for future generations!"

Darkwing inhaled and let out a long sigh.

"The hope that flaps in the night... the muddy shoes that track the linoleum of crime." He held a fist against his chest, eyes watering. After a long moment, he rubbed his eyes with the heel of his palm before surveying the room. "All right, now did our preposterous pilferer leave any clues..." 

He paced as he looked around, monologuing his thoughts.

"The security cameras and motion sensors were off when we got here, and the emergency lights are on, which means the power hasn't been cut to this part of the building. But the glass isn't broken…and the item was clearly stolen at least a few hours ago, long enough that staff noticed and closed up the exhibit. So that means it was either last night, or before the museum opened today…and clearly it was done with some care, which means the thief cared enough about keeping it in good condition when they took it to avoid risking damage to it. That fact reinforces the idea that either they're a fan and it's important to them, or they plan to sell it to collectors."

But something didn’t line up. It didn’t quite make sense. He continued.

"However, there are three super active Darkwing Duck collectors. One is the Japanese fan  _ AhirunoSutori _ , who already had a super realistic custom replica made for her. The next is _ PurpleTerror91 _ , Drake Mallard, who we all know and love and clearly didn't do it, and the third is actually just  _ StarlingFan1 _ , whose account was doxxed four years ago and was proven to just be Jim Starling using a sock puppet account, so clearly he isn't the buyer. With all three of the big buyers out of the picture, selling it to a major collector wouldn't drive bidding war prices up. So why...?"

Launchpad stroked his chin, puzzling it over.

"It could be a super-secretive collector, one who isn't well known on the internet? Someone who hides their love for Darkwing Duck? But why would anyone do something like that? That can't be it… Hmmm..."

"Hmmm indeed LP. I would at least know of one of their usernames. The collector circuit for Darkwing Duck merch of this caliber is really limited to a small circle of people. We all know each other. The only other thing I can think of is if somebody stole it to actually use it, since it was one of the few functioning props on the show..." He considered for a moment.

"Maybe it was important to them for a different reason? Maybe they uh...really like gas...?" Launchpad offered.

But Darkwing just spread his hands, shaking his head.

"It just doesn't quite add up...it’s a prop, technically. I mean, it dispels pellets that have powder and colorant in them. The real thing is technically just for show. The pellets I’ve been making are uh...well they’re inspired by it, but it’s made to look cool more than actually be efficient. I bet it could work in theory, but it’s also almost 30 years old… to make it actually function for its intended use, you’d probably need an actual genius to make it work. The likelihood of it backfiring when loaded with the real stuff is pretty high.” He leaned his bill on his hand pensively.

Launchpad rubbed his neck. "I was worried that might be the case. If a villain got their hands on it that would explain a lot..." He balled up his fists, pacing back and forth anxiously _.  _ "...and that also means we need to get it back right away! DW, how on Earth are we gonna find it?"

His smaller companion tried not to let the hopelessness he was starting to feel slip into his voice but it was looking a bit grim.

"We'll get to the bottom of this, LP! I'm sure there's something else--" Mid-sentence, Darkwing froze, a shiver running up his spine. "Something's not right."

Launchpad could feel it too. It was subtle, but there was a shift in the air. Something had changed. Not only that but...it suddenly felt like they were being watched. He stood back to back with Drake, looking around, feeling uneasy. "Hello...? Who's there? Show yourself!"

DW pulled out a smoke bomb, rolling it in his fingers. "You know the drill LP," He whispered.

He was poised and tense, ready to act at the first sign of movement, when all of the screens cut out at once, going blank. They all then flickered back on in coordinated unison, the picture occasionally stuttering and skipping, sometimes displaying nothing but bright bars of color or static, as if the VHS tape playing inside each of them was old and was struggling with lining up the tracking properly. The audio blared from the speakers, unmuted as the video resumed.

The sound was loud and distorted, and it seemed to be coming from all around them.

"I am the terror that....”

The sound from the monitors glitched, repeating again, and again...and was it getting louder...? 

Launchpad swallowed hard, looking around. He inched closer to Drake until their backs were almost touching. 

"I am the terror that...”

"I am the terror that...”

"I AM THE TERROR THAT..."

“A bit melodramatic, huh?” Darkwing whispered over his shoulder, glancing around the room, his eyes sweeping over the shifting colors of the screens. “But that’s just how I like it!”

However, it was eerily still. No sign of movement. He looked in every direction. The feeling of being watched bore down on them, but there was nothing; just the monitors, the dim lights of the exhibit, and a room filled with mementos of a show and a career long since gone. 

He leaned back against Launchpad, surveying the room, hyper-aware and vigilant for danger, when the lights (and only the lights) suddenly cut out. They were plunged into utter blackness, save for the kaleidoscopic haze from the television screens casting warped, distorted colors dancing across the museum floor. This lasted only for several heartbeats, however, before the lights snapped back on in emergency red, flooding the room with an ominous crimson glow. “Wow, nice setup, whoever is messing with us has some real taste for atmosphere…” 

The scenes on the screens shifted, as did the audio, though it was still distorted, looping and glitchy, the vocals warped and odd and way too loud.

_ "I am the chill that runs down your spine…"  _

_ "I am the terror...that runs...your spine…" _

The sounds were blending together, drifting out of sync briefly in a deeply unsettling way. All at once the screens blacked out for a moment, filling the room with a deafening silence. Then, they all played in perfect unison:

_ "I am…Dar-" _

Before cutting off into static.

The static was somehow worse than the silence. It hung in the air, and the anticipation was almost palpable.

A dramatic silhouette was cut against the brightness of the screens, a dark blot against the too-bright snow of the static. But with the figure being so heavily backlit, it was impossible to make out the identity of the shadowy form. They looked almost as though they were wearing a Darkwing Duck costume, but the colors were all wrong. Bold, deep shades of yellow and red instead of the classic purple and blue…? Who did this guy think he was? 

Still, the large hat and cape cut an impressive figure, almost as cool as Darkwing Duck himself, and Drake had to hold himself back from applauding the presentation _. _

“What an entrance! But, you must be the thief, returning to the scene of the crime! Well, this ends here! How dare you sully the memory of a beloved hero! For I am the terror that flaps in the night! I am the ingrown toenail that makes even your fluffy bunny slippers uncomfortable! I am Darkwi--OOF!” 

The wind was knocked out of him almost instantly as something hit him in the stomach, hard, and he crumpled, falling to one knee as he leaned against Launchpad for support.

“No you aren’t, kid.”

Launchpad turned, catching Drake under the arms and supporting him.

"Oh no! DW, are you alright?!"

He hauled him up, putting an arm under his shoulder to hold him up while he managed to steady himself, turning to glare at the mysterious figure who had attacked him.

"Hey! What kind of cowardly villain are you? Hittin' a guy during his entrance that's just...bad form!"

__ Something about this guy felt off. It was like he was already out to get them...but they had no idea who he even was! It gave Launchpad a bad feeling. 

The figure practically growled in irritation. His voice was gruff and low, like he had smoked about 600 cigarettes too many.

"You think there are rules…? Like a game? Is that what this is to you? Just a game of dress up, a couple of cosplay nerds, running around playing hero-worship and living out a fantasy while people's lives are  _ ruined _ ? I don't think so. No, boys, this little make-believe game of yours? This little...fantasy? It ends. Tonight."

Taking a second to recover, Darkwing caught his breath, and nodded to Launchpad quickly, the secret indication for them to split up as soon as he gave the signal. Tossing the smoke bomb on the floor, he rushed towards the hallway, but somehow the mysterious thief was already ahead of him. This guy knew his usual tricks! It was like he was already one step ahead of them. “Nice monologue! Unfortunately, I don’t tolerate fiendish foolery, and this one’s personal! You’re finished!” 

He pulled the gate that separated the exhibit from the rest of the hall across the doorway, and glanced around the room, eyeing the chandelier above, and the fire extinguisher on the wall. If only he had a grappling hook! They really,  _ really _ needed to put that on the shopping list.

As soon as Drake gave the signal, Launchpad dove across the room, back toward the entrance of the exhibit, hoping to either draw the villain's attention or at the very least get behind him if he decided to follow after DW. He glanced back, seeing the flutter of the villain's cape (the colors were all wrong for a Darkwing costume! A yellow coat and red hat? What a striking combination!). It seemed he had followed DW after all. In fact, his attention seemed almost entirely focused on Drake, which was fine; that's usually what their plans relied on.

Moving quickly, he spotted their gear bag on the floor and scooped it up, climbing up to the maintenance catwalk to see if he could find some way to help from up top. Down below, he could see the two of them in the next exhibit over. The bad guy was advancing on DW, and he looked like he meant business. 

"What is this, some kind of sorry joke? Who do you think you are?" The masked stranger took a quick, heavy swing at Drake, his fist landing squarely on the side of his jaw. "I  _ invented  _ these moves, kid."

Darkwing stumbled back, snatching the fire extinguisher off of the wall, he sprayed the foam in the face of his attacker, and tried to roll out of the way. It hurt, but he had taken plenty of hits to the face before. This was what he was used to: Endurance for the Bullied 101. 

“Well, if you hadn’t cut off my monologue earlier, you would’ve heard me say I’m Darkwing Duck!” He shot back, wielding the improvised weapon like a shield, reminding himself of that finale episode from just before the show was cancelled, where Darkwing had to face a mysterious villain who also knew all of his moves. The real challenge would be outsmarting him.

Standing over him, the mysterious assailant let out a frustrated scream of exasperation, laying a kick into Darkwing's ribs as he did. He took that opportunity to reach down and rip the fire extinguisher out of his grasp. Picking him up by the collar, he slammed him into the wall as he growled his reply.

" _ You _ are not Darkwing Duck!  _ You _ are nothing.  **_NOTHING!_ ** Do you understand that?" He was seething, his breath coming in long, hard measures. He leaned in close, his bloodshot eyes meeting Darkwing's own. He stank of soot and sewer gas and despair.

"You are worthless, little man. Don't you ever forget that fact." 

He raised the fire extinguisher, intending to knock him out (or possibly beat his head in and be done with it; he hadn't decided yet) when something small hit him in the back of the head.

He dropped the fire extinguisher, stumbling backwards for half a moment as a noxious odor filled the air. 

Launchpad tucked away the makeshift slingshot for the homemade gas pellets they brought with them and shouted as loud as he could:

"DW! Run!"

“Thanks, LP!” Darkwing yelled back, rolling out of the way. “Maybe you need to understand you need a breath mint and a serious shower, old timer! You reek!”

Though something about that moment when his attacker leaned in close, glaring at him, he looked familiar, even in the dim light. He looked like someone he should have known -- seen hundreds, no,  _ thousands _ of times before. That look in his eyes, though, that was new. Rather than looking at him, it was like he was looking right through him, his gaze piercing his very being.

He utilized his stair-jumping technique to jump the barricade he had put up to get back into the Darkwing Duck exhibit.

He was shaken. There was something...way _ too much  _ about this whole situation. And the familiarity of this villain. Like he had done this all before. He knew all their tricks, every bit they attempted. He really had to be a Darkwing Duck expert!

It didn't take long for their adversary to recover, and Launchpad hurried to rejoin Drake in the Darkwing Duck exhibit. He rushed along the catwalk as he watched the masked stranger, who now looked more enraged than ever, stalk his way in that direction. He climbed down with moments to spare, running up to Drake and looking around at the exhibit pieces as though there might be some useful secret wisdom hidden in the Darkwing Duck history surrounding them. 

"We better come up with something quick, DW. There's something off about that guy...and he really seems mad now. I think he really wants to hurt us!" 

“Yeah… he got me good earlier, but it’ll take a lot more to stop me. I’m sure that guy’s the thief… but he seems really familiar. I know that guy… I have to, I just can’t place it… I just know that I  _ know  _ him… and that voice. Like I’ve heard it thousands of times. Anyway, we’ve gotta move!” He grabbed the rope they had used for getting in. “Gas him, and I’ll tie him up. Let’s do this.”

Lighting up a cigarette, the stranger laughed coldly. "You know, that's a pretty good plan. Gas him, tie him up. Season one, right? Some real classic rookie  _ bullshit _ .” He took a long drag from his cigarette, then continued, watching them with a steely, even gaze. “But you know, these things work better if you discuss them  _ privately _ ."

The masked thief was now leaning silently against the wall by the exhibit barrier, where he had been just waiting; listening to them talk. Launchpad somehow found this even more unsettling than him trying to attack them directly. The stranger sighed, and raised his hand, which held the stolen gas gun prop.

"Look boys, this has been just  _ so  _ much fun…" 

Moving almost too casually, he took the cigarette hanging from the side of his beak, inhaled deeply from it once more, then stubbed it out against the wall. He tossed the butt onto the floor and cracked his neck, stepping out of the shadows, and with a flourish of his cape revealed what was in his other hand: a chainsaw. 

He smiled, and it was in no way a pleasant or comforting thing. 

"...but playtime is over."

This was real. What was this guy’s deal? He already had his prize. What was the point in coming back again? Unless he was here to steal more props, he was just way too enraged for the situation. Most of the villains they had faced thus far were much bigger on grand schemes, ray guns, some weird nefarious setup for their great plan, but this guy was more about....

What? Violence? Yet he had to know his Darkwing Duck lore, since he was so skilled at knowing what they would do before they even attempted it. Darkwing found himself struggling to piece it together. And that weird, discolored outfit that resembled Darkwing Duck, what was up with it? 

Darkwing threw the rope up to the chandelier, pulling it tight, and pulled himself up, pushing off of Launchpad as he did so for extra air, swinging forward and attempting to kick their attacker in the chest. 

“Good, because we’re not playing! If you don’t return what you stole, Darkwing Duck will make you!” 

But his opponent sidestepped easily, allowing Darkwing to crash into the wall he had been leaning against, then feigned shock at the accusation. 

"Stole…? What, this old thing?"

He shook the prop gas gun, then rested his face against it as though it were a beloved treasure. He smiled at him with a cold, lifeless glare. 

"Why, this item isn't  _ stolen _ . It belongs to  _ me _ . I was simply retrieving what's  _ mine _ . If anyone's a thief here…"

He walked over to Darkwing, rolling him over from where he had crashed, and shoved a foot onto his chest, pointing the chainsaw at his face. His voice was dripping with disdain as he spoke.

"...It's _ you." _

He turned his head and glared at Launchpad, pointing the gas gun at him, the chainsaw still inches above Drake's face.

"Don't get smart, big guy. Just stay put. I've got business with this purple weirdo. You and I can dance once we've had our chat."

Launchpad held his hands up, backing off for now. What else could he do?! He gulped.

“Okay, okay! Let’s all chill out here for a second!” Darkwing attempted. He put his hands “up” if it could be called, in defeat, essentially just putting them in the tiny space between the chainsaw and his neck. 

“I haven’t stolen anything! Hey- hey-hey, I bet this is all just one big misunderstanding. I mean, uh, we love Darkwing Duck,  _ you _ love Darkwing Duck, but this is really important! Hey, I should know, Jim was my he-yIPE--” He protested, even as the chainsaw lowered closer to him, and he tried to shimmy back. There was nowhere to go, it was just his body, the wall, and the chainsaw, and his opponent’s foot on his chest wasn’t about to move so easily.

“Okay-okay-okayokayokay _ okay  _ look! Let’s back up!” 

"How about let's you  _ shut up and listen _ like your life depends on it."

He gave the chainsaw a tiny shake as if his point was not already crystal clear, then pressed his foot down hard on his chest just for the sheer pleasure of it. 

"You're living on borrowed time, kid.  _ My _ time. I've  _ earned _ this legacy! Earned it with my blood, sweat and feathers! I spent  _ years _ of my life dedicated to Darkwing Duck… and you… you took  _ everything _ from me! Now you think you can wear the corpse of my life like a mockery of everything I've worked for and flaunt it right before my eyes? I don't think so."

The St. Canard bell tower tolled in the distance, striking midnight. A thin, hateful smile crossed his beak.

"Look at that. Midnight already. Doesn't time fly when you're having fun? But **_I_** _am_ the terror that flaps in the night...and I'm afraid that _your_ Saturday morning has just been cancelled..."

He narrowed his eyes and kicked the chainsaw motor on. It roared to life, still just inches from Drake's face. __

"... **permanently!** "

He paused, savoring the moment, unable to resist drawing out and drinking in the terror written on Drake's face.

"Hey, look on the bright side, hot shot! You won't have to buy any more expensive headshots, right?" He threw his head back and laughed wildly. This duck was absolutely out of his mind.

Somehow, the words pierced Darkwing far deeper than any wound. It struck something in his soul, snuffing out something that burned within his heart, a flame of hero worship that had burned inside since his childhood.

It wasn’t the fact that his life was in danger at that moment. Not the puns, or the threats, or even the chainsaw, but the words themselves. The look, the terror…

Jim? Was it really him? Alive? In front of--well, on top of him, facing him in a fit of rage--but very much alive!?

As it dawned on him, a complicated look crossed his face, and he tried to sit up, tried to reach a hand out to him, not in fear as much as a desperate, pleading request, an offering of his pathetic attempt at assuaging a very real anger. __

“...Jim?  _ Jim Starling? _ Is that really you? You’re alive! Are you really alive? Wait a minute, please!” He struggled against his foot, trying to sit up. “You could come back! You could star in a reboot! You could have mentored the next Darkwing! Everybody misses you! I thought I--”

His voice became small.

“I thought... I saw you die…” 

The thief, or rather, Jim Starling, stopped laughing suddenly and glared down at him. For a moment the only sounds filling the room were the static from the monitors and the grim, steady roar of the chainsaw engine. 

"Of course I'm alive, you idiot. Who else did you think…?" He scoffed, then snarled at him. "As for the comeback, I've been there, done that and newsflash, nobody wants the old Darkwing Duck back, not with young,  _ fresh faced  _ actors on the scene." 

He menaced him with the chainsaw, as if to imply his face wouldn't be fresh much longer. 

"The world has turned its back on Jim Starling! If the old Darkwing Duck is dead, what passes for the new one around here is sure as Hell coming with him." 

“Look! I’m not trying to steal anything-- honestly, I’m not even a successful actor…” He forced a wimpy laugh, trying to lighten the mood. “That’s not important. What’s important is that well--you’re my hero! You always have been! This is a mix-up, really! You’re a huge inspiration to me, I modeled my whole life after you! And hey, your moves are awesome! You outsmarted me at every turn, you’re one of the best stunt ducks ever! You could be Darkwing Duck in real life!”

But Jim just ground his foot down harder into his chest until he felt a slight crack beneath his foot. He smirked in satisfaction at both the sound of the crunch, and his victim’s sharp cry of agony. He scoffed and narrowed his eyes maliciously as he continued his monologue in a low growl, savoring Drake’s slow, shuddering breaths as he fought to keep the pain at bay.

"You think I don't know that?! How do you think it feels to be replaced by someone as pathetic as you? All those years of work and what do I have to show for it? Nothing! Less than nothing! A couple of wannabe fanboys managed to overshadow me, and the world forgets Jim Starling? No. I'll make sure they never forget my name. One way… or another." 

Launchpad couldn't take another second of this. Watching Jim...their hero...talk like some kind of supervillain...watching him threaten Drake, really threaten him, really hurt him…

He couldn't just stand there and do nothing anymore! It looked like Jim had lost his way, and possibly his mind, and he was probably going to slice Drake to ribbons any minute now regardless. So Launchpad did the only thing he could think of: 

He leapt into action, running straight at Jim while he was monologuing and his attention was firmly on Drake. In one movement, Launchpad slid in and threw his arm up, forcing him to toss the running chainsaw so it wouldn't kick back and hit him. It was a risky move with it so close to Drake's face, but somehow Launchpad felt that doing nothing was even riskier. 

Besides, if there ever was a time to get dangerous…

Jim leapt back, avoiding the running chainsaw as it was knocked out of his grasp, giving Launchpad just enough time to help Drake up.

Finally back on his feet, Drake Mallard was running more on adrenaline than anything else at this point, so without giving it any thought he kicked Jim as hard as he could in the other arm, hoping to startle him enough that he couldn’t go after his weapon just yet. As the grizzled older duck stumbled back a step from the kick, Darkwing slammed a smoke bomb down between them and rushed to the other side of the room under cover of the thick, blue cloud that rose to fill the air. 

There was a clatter and a crash across the room, the sound of glass breaking on one of the displays. The pedestal that held the glass case that served as a protective covering to some of the old props toppled over, felled by the stalled chainsaw that had gone skidding from Jim’s grip. As it shattered it sent a spray of splintered glass across the marble tile. Using the sound to orient himself, Drake felt around through the smoke for a moment, grabbing his rope.

“Thanks, LP! I... well…” He winced, trying to collect his thoughts and figure out their next steps through the haze of pain. 

He was a bit shaken at this point, and his brain was out of punny quips; absolutely none of them felt like they would be in any kind of good taste at this point. He decided to try a different angle. “Come on Jim! This isn’t you! I know you’re hurt and you’re angry and-and-and-! You can be, that’s fine! Just… just…” He trailed off. He was grasping at straws as he struggled to appeal to his good side now. He had to have a good side in there somewhere...

“This isn’t what you want your legacy to be…”

If Jim was angry before, he was  _ infuriated  _ now.

"Don't you DARE tell me what I want MY legacy to be! And  _ you! _ "

He leapt at Launchpad, all white hot murderous rage, but all that hero training paid off at least somewhat as he moved quickly, reacting to brace himself against the attack. Launchpad had the advantage of both size and the fact that he had fully anticipated his opponent to be incredibly angry after he intervened. 

"I warned you not to get smart, you big oaf!" 

They grappled for a few moments, Jim throwing punches and Launchpad blocking about every third one. Just after Jim hit him in the jaw with the gas gun he saw his opportunity, feigning the hit harder than it was (although honestly, it hurt pretty bad! Jim had a serious left hook!) and putting all his weight against Jim's arm, he knocked the gas gun out of his hand. The motion sent it clattering across the museum floor. 

They both stared after it for a minute, then Launchpad yelled to Darkwing.

"DW! The stolen gas gun! Quick!"

Jim just sighed a deep, exasperated sigh _. _

"Are we really doing this bit? Is this what I'm reduced to?" 

Even so, he tried to dive for the gun, but Launchpad wrapped his arms around him. In their grappling, they both banged hard into the wall.

No, not just the wall…

The big, ominous, bright red button on the wall. 

A blaring alarm started sounding throughout the museum wing, complete with flashing red lights. 

Jim rolled his eyes.

"Oh great! What is this, amateur hour?! Saturday morning cartoons?! Get off of me!" 

Scrambling back up, Darkwing reached for the gun, scraping his hand on the broken glass, and in his shocked reflex of pain he batted it across the room, farther away from all three of its occupants. He pressed himself against the wall, trying to keep his feet clear of the glass as he shimmied closer to the discarded prop with careful, painstaking steps. 

He wanted to plead with Jim, try to reason with him, how could he not see why this was wrong? Why all of this; the rage, the violence, the bitterness, it was...just  _ wrong? _ He wasn’t following any of the rules, fighting dirty, and for what? What did he even have to gain if he beat them both up and left? Stealing all of the props unopposed? But if he just wanted to steal the set pieces then he wouldn’t have made himself known to them! He really  _ did  _ have nothing at all to gain! It just didn’t make sense...

“Come on Jim, I know…I know in my heart you’re better than this! Darkwing Duck is better than this...” he begged.

In one smooth motion Jim flipped Launchpad, just as he had flipped thousands of huge bad guys doing stunts for years. For having such a hefty build, this kid left himself wide open against leverage, and his footing was garbage. It was child's play for a seasoned player like Jim. This was a joke, and it was getting old fast. 

He stalked across the room, avoiding the glass without even really trying.

Jim was closer to the gun than Drake, and significantly less injured, however he didn't go straight for the gun.

He went in the opposite direction. 

He went after the chainsaw. 

Luckily for Darkwing Duck, this gave him the precious few seconds he needed to get across the broken glass and snatch up the gas gun. He glanced over to Jim. How else could he reason with him? Plead? Argue? How could he get through to the duck he knew so well despite hardly ever exchanging words with him in person? The duck that had been so influential to him, had been such an integral part of his entire life? The one who had brought him this far, to this very place? __

_ Your heart is in my lunch box. _

There had to be something he could say to convince him.

“What...what about all the other guys who look up to you? Maybe you didn’t see, but there was a huge crowd here today! They were all devastated at your loss--the whole world thinks you’re dead!” he pleaded.

"They just came to gawk at the bones of my legacy while they pick the meat off it." Jim muttered, reaching down and picking up the chainsaw, holding it like it felt right in his hand. The perfect weapon of choice.

"It doesn't matter now. None of it does. Jim Starling is dead. The industry killed him. Guys like  _ you _ killed him."

Launchpad sat up, rubbing his head, and knelt, trying to get steady. Jim had a heck of a throw! 

But the words coming out of Jim's mouth...they were...they were just wrong!

"Jim! Stop it! This isn't right! You're supposed to be a hero! This isn't how a hero should talk! This isn't you! This isn't Darkwing Duck! It's completely the opposite! You're being so negative, and talking like some kind of villain! Like some sort of...of...Nega-duck!"

Jim paused, stroking his chin for a moment, then he grinned a nasty grin.

"You know what? I like that. 'Negaduck'...it has a nasty ring to it. A  _ real  _ villain."

Pounding footsteps echoed from elsewhere in the museum, drawing everyone's attention. Private security in the best case scenario; the cops if they had really terrible luck. Either way it was time to go. 

“Negaduck...I’ve heard that before… the Darkwing villain who was never fully revealed!” Darkwing whispered, but he didn’t have time to think about it. They had to get out of here, and fast!

If only he had a grappling hook! Then they could escape the way they came in. Luckily, the hallway they had entered from had an emergency exit out to the fire escape. He dropped one of his homemade gas pellets into the gas gun.

Praying to himself,  _ (please don’t backfire, please don’t backfire, please don’t backfire…) _ he rushed towards the door, dropped to his knees to dodge the broken glass at the top of a display, and pointed the gas gun at Jim.

“In that case, Jim Starling died a hero. You’re just a villain then, Negaduck.”

He didn’t look back as he fired, the pellet discharging and filling the room with blue smoke. He grabbed Launchpad’s arm, helping him up, and stairwell-jumped back over the barricade, rushing down the hall towards the fire escape. He didn’t hesitate, operating on pure adrenaline as he threw the door open, the alarms continuing to wail in his ears. 

This wasn’t how he wanted his goodbye to be.

~☆~ 

They barely made it halfway down the block before the adrenaline wasn't enough to keep the pain at bay any longer, and Launchpad had to half-carry Drake the rest of the way home. Not that he minded.

They probably should have headed straight to the hospital; Launchpad was pretty sure Drake had at least a few cracked ribs. However, neither of them were thinking clearly. Right now they just needed somewhere… safe to gather their thoughts. After the long, painful trek up the stairs, they opened the door to the apartment and stopped dead in their tracks, despite the pain and utter exhaustion. 

They should have been prepared, logically, for the sight that greeted them when they opened the door, but of course, they weren't. 

It wasn’t that anything was amiss. It was just the opposite, in fact; everything was exactly as they’d left it:

Jim Starling's face grinned at them from nearly every surface of Drake Mallard's apartment. Launchpad swept his gaze over it, not taking a single step inside, his arm still supporting Drake. He swallowed hard, then cleared his throat. __

"Maybe we should uh...spend the rest of the night at the hideout tonight…we could...er...order some pizza or...or something…you know what? Yeah, let’s do that," He felt like he might cry, and not just because this meant going back down the stairs again tonight.

Roughly 45 minutes later, Darkwing Duck was laying on his back on the sheet metal flooring, staring up at the ceiling. The faintest hints of morning sun were starting to peek through the shutters, casting stripes of light across the ceiling. He laid his hat over his face, not bothering to move, mumbling to himself in dismay.

“Who’s that cunning mind behind the shadowy disguise? Nobody knows for sure, bad guys are out of luck...here comes… Darkwing Duck… who just messed everything up...” He groaned, rolling pathetically onto his side, pulling the cape around him like a blanket. 

“You know something, LP? This sucks. Everything is awful.”

Launchpad McQuack had been staring at the same spot of rust on the ceiling for the last 20 minutes. There was an empty pizza box splayed open on his chest. He didn't turn his head as he responded. 

"When you're right, you're right, DW. And you, you're...always right." 

He sounded utterly despondent. 

"I should have never come here. Or… or maybe… if I had never flown a plane… I wouldn't have crashed my first one… and... and... I would never have even watched Darkwing Duck that night… and Jim would be alive and Negaduck wouldn't be… Negaduck… and your ribs wouldn't be…" 

He sat up suddenly, sending the pizza box skittering across the floor.

"Oh my gosh! Your ribs! DW, we ought to get you to a hospital or...or something!" 

He scooted over next to Darkwing and sat next to him worriedly. "How do they feel…? You looked like you were in pretty rough shape…"

“No...I’m not always right. I’m wrong. I’m the wrongest duck ever.” Darkwing whined.

“Technically, I just stole a one-of-a-kind prop from a museum, I made my hero hate me, I illegally practice vigilantism, stole a role from my hero for a movie because the studio was too cheap-budget to hire the original actor, I nearly killed him on that same movie set, I broke a plural number of ribs…” Trailing off, he stopped in the middle of his sentence, watching a dust bunny float by. 

He continued as if he hadn’t left the previous list unfinished. 

“Maybe if I didn’t watch Darkwing Duck as a duckling, I would’ve grown up filled with rage and hatred for the world, stemming from my deep rooted self loathing in being a lost egg. Then, raised in St. Canard without any healthy coping mechanisms, I would have become a supervillain, and then Jim could vanquish me and be the real Darkwing Duck… I’m the  _ worst _ !” He spouted all of this in an almost-monotone whine.

He rolled over with a pained groan, wrapping his cape around him like a blanket-burrito. “Let me rot away in our trash-house, like I belong. In the trash.”

Launchpad just sort of stared at the lumpy blob of cape his partner had become. He wanted to say something that would make him feel better, but what could he say? He was beginning to understand that Drake always had a melodramatic streak, but this whole mess was actually his idea from the start, not Drake’s. He had practically begged him to start crime fighting for real...and now look at him. 

He was miserable! 

_ LP, you've really gone and done it this time. It was one thing to crash a plane, but to crash a whole duck's sense of self worth… _

He couldn't even give him a hug, not with those most likely broken ribs! He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. There may be no way to fix this but...he had to at least try.

"Hey...hey, listen, DW. You don't belong in the trash. If anyone should live in the dump it's Launchpad McCrash...I'm the one who talked you into doing this whole 'you can do this for real!' thing...I... I shouldn't have pushed you into doing this." 

He looked down at the cape lump and sighed.

"I... I’ll understand if you don't want to be partners anymore." He sat there quietly for a moment longer, then turned his back, holding his knees and burying his face in his arms. He was considering whether or not he could eat another pizza entirely by himself.

Darkwing grunted and unrolled himself, until he was lying face down on his stomach. 

“No way, LP… even if Darkwing Duck went away tomorrow I’d still wanna be partners. You know… something...what are words… I think you’re super cool. The coolest duck in the world. Besides, I was the one who suggested we infiltrate the museum and look for the one who stole the gas gun…”

He fell quiet again for a few long moments, just letting the pattern of the floor imprint itself in his feathers, until he hauled himself up, watching the dust in the pale early morning sunlight, and eventually leaned against the wall, pulling himself up to look out the window. 

“I thought we really could be Darkwing Duck. I thought--....” He trailed off yet again, looking down at his scraped up hands, at the costume. “...I thought... “

He couldn’t get the memory of that look in Negaduck’s eyes, glaring at him.

The hatred. It was so pure, and filled with such rage.

Someone who didn’t see him as a rival or an opponent, but a true enemy.

He didn’t hesitate.

There wasn’t a shred of that nobility or heroic attitude that originally made him so incredible to Drake Mallard as a child. None of that can-do, get back up again, fighting spirit that was all about hope; it wasn’t Jim Starling. Well, maybe it was, but somewhere down the line, his heart had rotted, giving birth to Negaduck, who really was filled with nothing but hatred.

Hatred of someone who still believed in good. Hatred for the kid who looked up to him for years upon years, hatred for his dreams, for everything he stood for… 

...Negaduck was someone who really did take vicious pleasure in causing pain.

In a way, he was grateful that Jim had chosen him to hate, rather than focusing that destructive force on someone helpless. 

He could get back up when others couldn’t.

“...is this what it feels like…?” His voice was small, even as the wind blew the feathers on his cheeks, ushering in the morning.

Launchpad looked up from his knees, surprised to find Drake standing on his own, even if he was leaning on the windowsill. He was filled with conflicting emotions. Unbelievable warmth and joy that Drake wanted him around still...and fear that doing this, being Darkwing Duck...what if Negaduck was right?

What if they were in over their heads and it got Drake hurt even worse? 

What if it got him killed? 

He stood up, walking over to stand next to him, looking out the window at the view over the city. The morning light had just started to creep over the edges of the horizon, and the predawn gray still hung in the air. It was beautiful in a calm, eerie way.

But it didn't hold Launchpad's attention. He was drawn to the expression on Drake's face. It was focused, intense, the same sort of look he wore while puzzling out a clue on a big case. It was miles different than the one he had been wearing since they stepped foot in the hideout that night. He put his hand on his shoulder gingerly.

Drake was quiet for a long time, trying to process all of this. Launchpad putting a hand on his shoulder, it was like an anchor, something in a storm to hold him down, a comforting reassurance that he wasn’t alone.

Of course he wasn’t alone. This place, it was both of theirs. This whole...identity. This adventure, as it was becoming. It was both of theirs. He didn’t have to weather all of this alone, because Launchpad was there. They were Darkwing Duck together.

“...LP… I think… I think I created Negaduck.” He didn’t look up. 

“And somehow...somehow I’m not upset about that. I’m upset that Jim’s gone, I’m upset about all that other stuff… but…” He swallowed. “I think... this is how it’s supposed to be. If he hates me, that’s probably right. If he hates me, then he’ll come after us. If he comes after us, he won’t hurt somebody else first.”

His voice was still quiet as he spoke, as if he was telling some horrible secret. 

“Because he might think he hates Launchpad McQuack, or Drake Mallard… and maybe in his mind he does, whatever it’s become, but in his heart, no, he hates me. Us. Darkwing Duck. That’s what it’s supposed to be.”

"DW…" He put his hand on the windowsill, on top of Drake’s. Launchpad spoke softly, and his words fell gently into the wind as he gave Drake's hand a gentle squeeze of reassurance. 

"That might just be the most heroic thing I've ever heard anyone say in my life." He glanced at him, and he couldn't help but smile, relieved to see that even now, despite every terrible thing that had happened in the last day or so, all the awful realizations they had come to and horrible realities they'd faced, Drake Mallard hadn't lost hope. 

“...Thanks…” Drake answered, awkwardly leaning into Launchpad for support. “Everything still sucks though. Well maybe not  _ everything _ . You don’t suck. And this view doesn’t suck.”

He was no longer just standing, it was more like his weight was being balanced between the windowsill and Launchpad, and he sucked in air through his teeth. The adrenaline had long since worn off, and now he was in a rush of pain. 

“Uh…LP. I think… I’m in a lot of pain. Like, a  _ lot  _ lot. A whole lot. I should probably do something about that.”

"Oh." 

It took a second for what he said to register.

" _ Oh-- _ ! Oh no! Yeah! Uh...hang on, one sec!" 

Launchpad made sure Drake was propped up on the windowsill and ran over to the gear bag, digging through it for the spare set of civilian clothes they kept in there.

He returned shortly with a regular purple shirt, taking Drake's hat and untying his mask, then slipping off his jacket and turtleneck with cautious movements. He paused, hesitating at the severity of the rapidly blossoming bruises visible beneath his friend’s feathers before hastily buttoning up the shirt. 

"Th...There! Regular old Drake Mallard! Never heard of ya!" He smiled weakly, but he was clearly worried as he scooped Drake up gently, being mindful of his wounds.

"Okay buddy, just gotta make it to the car, then over to the ER...it's not far…" He carried him down the narrow stairs of the hideout and laid him across the backseat of the limo, figuring it was probably better than trying to keep him upright. He drove, swiftly but carefully, and arrived at the ER in hardly any time at all. The ride was miraculously smooth, no bumps, not a scratch on the limo as he got out and lifted Drake from the back seat. He was focused, determined and dead-set on getting Drake the medical attention he needed as quickly and safely as possible.

He was  _ so  _ focused, he didn't even notice the limo roll down the small hill in neutral, rear-ending a tree as he vanished behind the ER doors, carrying Drake in his arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so SO much for reading! We just had to slip Jim in here real quick to be one last stinky sewer thing in 2020. See you next episode!


	5. Let's Get Back Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is mostly just fun fluff! Content warning- this chapter contains: mentions of hospitalization, discussion of prescription medication. These are mainly in the first few paragraphs, so feel free to skip past.

The next several days were a blur. Drake vaguely remembered Launchpad carrying him down the stairs of the secret lair, then the doctor talking to him at the hospital, a revolving door of very tired but friendly nurses, Launchpad carrying him up some other stairs... then waking up a few different times in his room, and the special edition holo Darkwing poster greeted him each time with hazy familiarity as he slipped in and out of consciousness.

Shortly thereafter, the pain took hold, and time became an illusion; an elusive concept that escaped him, slipping out of his grasp and dodging down the darkened alleyways of his mind. He had no concept of the hours as they passed or how long he spent unconscious or what time of day or night it was or what was happening or even  _ where  _ he was as he recovered those first few nights.

Drake drifted in and out – perhaps more from the painkillers than the pain – until he awoke at last in his own bed, in his own room, opening his eyes to the cheap popcorn ceiling. He ached terribly, and was wearing an old loose T-shirt; probably the first thing Launchpad could find in his dresser that he thought wouldn’t agitate the bandages too much. He could hear the TV in the next room over, and sat up slowly, trying to get his bearings.

_ What happened? _

Oh yeah. Jim—no,  _ Negaduck— _ had thoroughly kicked the snot out of him. And stood on him. And punched him. And tried to chainsaw him in the face. Yeah. That.

Sure, they’d escaped with the stolen gas gun in more or less one piece… but they’d just ended up at the lair, licking their wounds and feeling sorry for themselves that being heroic didn’t mean you could save everybody from themselves. Or even that everyone  _ wanted  _ to be saved. Or that everything could be better if… if… _ ugh, _ he was sure there was some kind of lesson here somewhere, but it was hazy under the pain.  _ Whatever _ . 

He squished his cheek feathers with his knuckles, his elbows propped up on his knees as he remembered all that.  _ Sheesh _ . Still, what doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger, right? Or what doesn’t kill you doesn’t realize that you have Launchpad McQuack to rescue you. 

Leaning experimentally against the dresser for support, he stood up, venturing out into the living room where the large pilot was draped against the couch, trying (with limited success) to focus on something that was playing on the TV in front of him. 

“Hey, LP.”

Launchpad looked exhausted. He rubbed his eyes, but smiled when he saw Drake up and about.

"Hey! Look at you: bruised, but triumphant!" He got up from his spot on the couch, pausing what he was watching – a news report about the museum robbery. Vanishing into the bathroom briefly he returned with a small bottle of pills, checking the label, then his watch.

"How are you feeling? You're not due for another dose for another twenty minutes or so…" 

It was clear he'd been keeping close track of his medication, changing his bandages, and on top of that, the apartment was fairly clean.

“Better than I was a couple days ago. At least, I  _ think  _ it was a couple days ago,” Drake answered, smiling as best as the pain would allow. “I guess I have you to thank for that, huh?” 

Had he really been taking care of him and the apartment all this time…?  _ Jeez, he didn’t have to do that! _ He had already saved his life – he didn’t think he'd ever be able to find the right words to tell him how important that was. He made his way to the kitchen table, easing himself into one of the chairs. “And wow, LP! This place looks great, too! You’re the real MVP, you know that? But… you know, you didn’t have to do all this… you must be pretty worn out, I don’t want you overdoing it for my sake…” 

Drake flipped through his phone, checking up on old messages and emails, trying to distract himself from the vague guilt that was bubbling up inside of him. 

Why did some companies send so much junk? He didn’t need to know about the new Al’s Toy Barn deals every other day. He actually had a buddy at the local branch who would update him if any Darkwing Duck toys were scheduled to come in, anyway. He  _ especially  _ didn’t need ten emails about the hot new line of Gizmoduck action figures. 

_ Because you liked category -  _ _ Superheroes _ _. _ Bleh. Whatever.

Launchpad just shrugged, though a light flush rose over his face. "Oh, it’s no big deal, I don’t mind doing this kind of stuff, really! It just, I don't know… it was… I guess I needed to keep myself busy. I was really worried about you, you know? They wouldn't let me see you in the hospital at first… until you woke up and started asking for me...well...they said 'shouting,' but…Then those first couple of days you hardly woke up...they said that was normal though. 'Extreme fatigue, broken ribs, bruising,’ something else called  _ laser-rations _ …" He rubbed his arm awkwardly, glancing at Drake. He wasn’t about to admit that he had somewhat panic-cleaned, especially the first few days. He paused uncomfortably. "I, uh...I told them you were in a car accident and I found you on the side of the road. Not sure if they bought it, the doctor gave me one heckuva look about it." 

A blush crept up Drake’s feathers, and he tried to bury his face in his phone. Shouting for LP? He didn’t remember that, but he also didn’t put it past himself… Launchpad really was the hero of that entire harrowing experience. “Oh yeah? Smart move. Except I bet they thought it was weird I was asking for you, huh? I kinda remember the doctor telling me I had a lot of internal bleeding. I mean, at least that’s where the blood belongs, right?” He gave a short, awkward attempt at a laugh that only succeeded in making his ribs ache harder. Placing a hand gingerly on his sore ribs he looked over at Launchpad and managed a genuine smile through the pain. “But seriously…! Thanks for rescuing me. And taking care of me, and bringing me home…”

"Yeah, well, y'know...I'm supposed to be your partner, DW. That means I gotta keep you in tip top shape."

Launchpad seemed to relax a tiny bit and smirked, joining him in the kitchen and poking through the cabinets. "Are you hungry at all? They said you might not be, not right away, but I know you haven't had a solid meal for a while… Let's see… we're running a little low on supplies but we've got, uh… cereal. Looks like I need to run back to the store again. Or we could get takeout… though… ugh… probably not pizza. Not for a good long while."

“Yeah, that’s… yeah. Did you have to eat all those leftovers yourself? Oh boy. Well. I’ll just eat whatever, really. We can go grocery shopping later.” He rested his head on his hand with his elbow propped up on the table. He scrolled idly on his phone for a few seconds, then looked up, an idea forming in his mind. 

“Hero toys… hm. Hey, LP! Where’d you stash the gas gun? Can I see it? We’re going to have to find a way to return it, but I want a closer look at it.”

Launchpad nodded sagely. "I kept it in a place nobody would ever think to look."

He walked over and popped open the microwave, pulling the stolen gas gun prop off of the glass plate inside. He held it up for a second, smiling broadly, before setting it on the table in front of Drake. "It functions as both a hiding place  _ and _ a burrito re-heating device!” He paused in embarrassed realization, tilting his head and holding up his hands in a gesture of guilt, as though he expected to be scolded. “Hey! At least I unplugged it first...?"

Drake shook his head, smiling. It was a good hiding place; he wasn't about to chide him for it. "Thanks. My buddy on the forum who has been helping with the gas formula gave me his number, we have to keep this secret, so I’m texting him some photos... I didn't want them on the internet where they could be tracked. Er... Tracked more easily."

"Are you sure you can uh… I mean… is this guy trustworthy?" He didn't want to imply that he didn't trust Drake's judgement. But that pill bottle had sported some fairly ominous warnings about operating heavy machinery that, quite frankly, Launchpad didn't understand at all, and he wasn't sure if that extended to light machinery like cell phones and gas guns as well.

Besides, the gas gun  _ WAS _ stolen, and it was probably better to err on the side of caution.

"Well, he sorta… technically... wasn't supposed to give me the formulas I told him I was field testing for him. The smoke bombs and gas pellets? They’re supposed to be classified for whatever lab he works at. So I've got top-secret info of his too. If he betrays us... we have that on him? I guess?" He dialed the number, a bit hesitant, and he shifted his weight awkwardly as he listened to the ringing on the other end of the line.

Drake was just about to hang up when the other end of the line finally clicked.

"UH, Hi! I mean uh, Gearloose Labs!"

"Hi… Um… Is this  _ CrackshellBlatherskite _ ...? You gave me your number..."

"Oh! Well, uh hi! Yes, that's me! You must be the field researcher!  _ PurpleTerror91 _ , right? Hi, uh, give me a second, let me—"

Crashing noises sounded on the other line. "Just one second, let me step into my office!" 

Drake set the phone to speaker, then eased himself back into the chair at the kitchen table. "So... these photos I sent you, they're actually super secret. It's a uh... it's a device I have access to, but it's not mine. It was used theatrically for years, it shot pellets of colored powder, making smoke clouds. Do you think it could be used... _ practically _ ...?"

"Practically? Did you try it out with any of the formulas?"

"Well, I uh, in a really stressful moment, I used it with Formula D...."

The other’s voice seemed to pipe up with excitement. “Formula D? And it actually reacted? Fascinating!”

"Well, I was worried about it reacting in my bag, since I've been making capsules, but if you keep the parts separate, then you can create a more controlled reaction. I use impact as a trigger, such as slamming it on the ground or—" 

Drake was interrupted by Launchpad, who stood up, putting his hands on the table in excitement. He  _ knew  _ that voice! "Fenton? Is that you? It's Launchpad... Launchpad McQuack? You know, Mr. McDee's pilot? Anyway,  _ you're _ the mysterious online friend that's been helping us out? That's so cool!"

There was a pause on the other end of the line, followed by several metallic grinding noises and a crash. Launchpad waited patiently. After all, these were all typical of calls to Gearloose Labs. 

"Launchpad? That's a relief! I was a bit apprehensive about sharing this data, but your friend is very helpful! His research has actually helped me troubleshoot some issues on Giz—... _ mos _ that we're working on here at the lab! How's your vacation going?"

"Well, it's...for the most part it's been great! I've been spending tons of time with my friend, which is awesome! But he got, uh… hurt, recently which was… not awesome… and well, honestly things have been a little rough lately. But we're hanging in there!”

Launchpad grinned at the phone. Louie was right, it was nice to talk to friends on the phone. It really  _ was  _ more personal than texting!

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that..." Fenton did sound genuinely apologetic. "Your friend has actually been helping me with my own re—"

There was a muffled crash from the phone again, shouts of Huey yelling sorry, and suddenly Webby's voice cut in. "He got hurt? By what? Bugs? Bears?! The Dreaded Eight-Hundred-Legged FUZZY BUGBEAR BEASTS?! OH NO! Do you need backup?"

Her voice was followed by another familiar voice, this time belonging to one Huey Duck. "Maybe we should pack up some supplies for Launchpad and send them to him! The Junior Woodchuck Guidebook states that the best way to prepare for a situation is to be prepared for ANY situation!"

The sound of the ducklings’ familiar voices sent a pang of nostalgia through Launchpad, and he suddenly found himself wondering very acutely whether or not they missed him. The thought was followed on its heels by a half-formed, even more absurd thought: 

_ Did they even remember him? _

It was nothing more than a vague feeling, but still, it nagged at him as he interjected into the call, leaning over the table and smiling anxiously at the phone.

"Oh, hey! Is everyone there at the lab?! Hi guys! It's me! You know? Launchpad? Launchpad McQuack? Dewey's best friend? Is Dewey there? Can he hear me? Hi Dewey!!"

Launchpad hadn't realized until that moment how much he missed everyone. They really were his family. He thought to himself that he ought to see about bringing Drake up to visit McDuck Manor some time, if Mr. McDee would allow it. Man, that would be so much fun...

"Yes, Launchpad, I recognize your voice, even  _ with  _ all the noise! You gave me that vocal recognition badge yourself! But, uh, Dewey isn't here!” Huey explained. “Mom said she would teach him how to surf! Uncle Scrooge and Uncle Donald went with them for some reason, and Louie tried to bring a dinosaur egg back from the past to keep as a pet, but it hatched and got into a fight with Lil’ Bulb, and now they're both destroying the lab! But don't worry! We will make you the best care package any Woodchuck could ask for!"

Huey was practically yelling into the phone.

"It did wha..." Somehow this still brought a smile, (albeit very confused one) to Drake's face. "I'm glad Launchpad has friends like you."

Webby’s voice cut in, and if one could convey the motion of shoving an offended finger into someone’s chest through the phone, she had somehow accomplished that. "Friends! Are you kidding? We're his friends, but we're also his  _ family _ ! So if you mess with him, you mess with us! Got that mister--?" Webby’s words were half demands, half threats, but she sputtered. “I actually don’t know your name.”

Given Drake’s current condition it was probably a good thing her tone of voice couldn’t  _ actually  _ do any physical damage, but he flinched anyway. "Uh, Mallard. Drake Mallard. Sorry I didn't introduce myself sooner." It might’ve sounded cool, coming from literally anyone else, but he just sounded awkward.

"Well! Mr.  _ Mallard!  _ Once our time is up, burn this message! Hehe, I've always wanted to say that!"

"No! Don’t— _ don't  _ burn! This is my phone-!!" There was some shuffling, and Fenton came back on the line. "At any rate, hello, Drake Mallard! Pleasure to be working with you! I guess you don't have to call me by my username, either. Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera, at your service! I'll take a look at the photos, and message you if I need any more. Any friend of Launchpad is a bosom companion of mine!"

Launchpad was smiling so hard at the phone he was sure his cheeks would hurt afterwards. "Haha, aww, thanks, pal! Anyway, tell Dewey I said hi when they get back! Man, surfing sounds cool, I've never crashed a surfboard before… And Huey, you've got true Junior Woodchuck spirit to look out for your Senior Woodchuck like that! And Webby, that's really sweet of you, but you don't need to be so hard on Drake, you know! He's my partner now, after all!"

There was a long pause of silence on the other end of the phone, which was odd, especially considering the situation unfolding at the lab.

The silence was eerie, almost longer than expected, aside from the sound of something both metallic and glass falling and shattering, it was finally broken by Webby, whose excited yell could be heard despite the fact that the phone had been taken from her.

"CONGRATULATIONS!"

Words can have lots of different meanings in lots of different situations. In this particular situation, in which two young adult, single male ducks with similar tastes and interests were staying together for an extended period of time in a one bedroom apartment...

...Well, it was clear that the group on the other end of the line had obviously had a bit of a  _ misunderstanding _ about what Launchpad had meant by the word  _ partner _ .

Drake's eyes went wide for a moment, realizing just what Webby assumed, his face turning bright red.

Launchpad chuckled softly to himself, then glanced at Drake with a little smile. "Gee, I didn't realize she'd be so excited about it… Anyway, uh, sorry! I didn't mean to jump into your call, but it was real nice catching up with everyone! I'll let you and Fenton talk business now! Or...uh...science, I guess."

He laughed gently, then sat down, pulling out his own phone and scrolling through Redduck. Mostly to keep himself from watching Drake, the hint of a blush tinting his cheeks.

The awkward pause was cut by the sound of Fenton’s voice, the excitement evident in it as he was flipping through the photos of the gas gun Drake sent. "This is a very interesting device! None of the components are even electronic; these parts are vintage composite materials! Where did you say you got this?"

"Uh... well actually, about that… yeah. That's a secret for a reason. But I  _ do _ have to give it back, so... " Drake was grateful for the change of subject. He didn’t want to talk about the misunderstanding, or that he wasn’t even sure if LP understood why they were congratulating him.

"I could make a replica for you! It would be easy enough! Probably a better one, actually. Just send me the data from your tests, I'll send you a bunch of questions, and we can definitely make some upgrades! Though I must admit, I’m a bit curious...why do you want  _ this  _ as a delivery mechanism?"

"Uh… well, it looks cool, and..." He was already bright red, and looked at Launchpad, relieved they weren't addressing the partner thing right now.

That was probably for the best.

Luckily for them, Fenton interpreted the pregnant pause as them looking for an excuse not to explain why they had the gas gun in the first place. "Oh yeah, right! Top Secret. I got it."

Launchpad was happily absorbed in whatever he was looking at on his phone, and after a second he smirked and held up his screen for Drake to see. There was a heavily edited Darkwing Duck meme waiting for him there, but he paused at the expression on Drake's face.

"Are you okay? Oh no, is it the pain? I can get your pills…?" He put his phone down on the table, concerned, studying Drake's expression more closely.

“No, no! I’m not in that much pain, it’s fine, just the usual amount…” He laughed a little uneasily. 

There were some rhythmic, repetitive clacking noises that Drake identified as the sounds of someone typing on a computer keyboard on the other end of the phone, and Fenton’s voice chimed back in once they stopped. “Thanks for this, I’ll let you know if I need anything for a prototype—aAAa _ watch out!” _

There were more crashes, followed by Huey repeatedly screaming no, and Webby yelling something along the lines of “GRAB HIM!” then the phone went silent, the call cutting off with an alarming abruptness. Drake sat there in surprised silence for a few seconds.

“Uh. Do you think those kids are okay…?”

_ "Those _ kids? Yeah I'm sure they're fine. Sounded like they were having a blast. That dinosaur though… I’d give it about a 50/50 chance." He shrugged, then laughed gently. "I know, it seemed like they were having a lot of fun, huh? You know what? I should see if Mr. McDee would let me bring you up to the Manor for a visit sometime! I'm sure everyone would love to meet you! After you've healed up, of course. Webby's version of nerf guns is a lot more realistic than you'd think." This brought a smile back to his face. He really did miss everyone back at the Manor.

“Wow, LP. I knew you were a pilot and everything, but your life is like a hurricane! You sure you’re not bored here? Garbage truck, stairs, almost getting murdered by an ex-TV star gone off the rails? It’s not...time travel and dinosaurs and robots in a cool secret laboratory.” 

"What? Are you kidding? Here I get to do training with my partner, go on stealth missions, take down  _ real  _ supervillains, test out gadgets, even create a secret hideout! And we get to hang out and watch Darkwing Duck episodes all day? Not to mention your apartment is literally its own DW Collector's Museum and oh, yeah...we get to  _ be  _ Darkwing Duck?! And to top it all off I get to do it all with the coolest duck on the planet?"

He then shot Drake a look that said something like,  _ 'you may be the coolest duck on the planet but you might not be the smartest if you think dinosaurs and robots are cooler than that.'  _

"I don't know about you, DW, but I wouldn't exactly call that boring." 

Drake just blushed an even darker shade of red.

“Oh. You… er—I—you think I’m the coolest duck on the planet?” He swallowed. “Thanks… I... I think  _ you’re  _ the coolest duck on the planet. I—well. Gosh why am I so terrible at talking right now? I must have been struck by a villain’s awkward ray… h-ha…”

Launchpad tilted his head at him, then sat next to him at the kitchen table. He put his elbow on the table and leaned his head against his hand, looking at Drake for a long moment, his expression gentle. "Hey, are you sure you're okay?"

“Okay? Yeah. I mean. More okay? I’m more okay than okay. Because you’re here. Gosh, words are… hard, heh… maybe it’s all the painkillers, huh?” Drake forced another laugh awkwardly. 

_ Stupid, confusing feelings! _ They were interfering with his brain functions! 

“What I mean is: I just appreciate you being here a lot. Well, not just here. Being with me. I’m… I’ve had a lot of crazy feelings the last few weeks. It’s complicated. I don’t have words for it. But I want… to spend as much time with you as I can.”

Launchpad just kind of looked at him for a moment, his cheek slowly sliding off his hand until he almost hit his head on the table.  _ "Woah! _ Uh," He caught himself, steadying both himself and the table, then sat up properly and cleared his throat, blushing deeply. "Wait, so, uh…are you saying that you…" He stumbled a bit over the words. 

Drake was right! Why were they so hard?

"I mean...do you think that we could…" Launchpad steeled himself, taking a deep breath, then he took Drake's hand and met his gaze. "DW, would you like to get coffee with me sometime?" 

“Uh…? Coffee?” Drake just blinked blankly at him, not fully understanding the question. “But we have coffee here? I mean, I guess we could go to Starducks… they have good scones? I was thinking more like… we could do whatever you want, as long as it’s together…” 

"But...we already do the things I want to do, and we already do them together…" He looked down at Drake's hand in his own and ran his thumb over the back of his hand gently. "Unless there's… stuff you want to do? Together? That we haven't done?" He paused, then looked suddenly concerned. "Oh no, have we just been doing stuff that I like this whole time and you didn't tell me because you didn't want to hurt my feelings?!" 

“Wait what? Wha--” Drake was genuinely worried for a second, cheeks still hot, and he squished his face feathers with his free hand, looking down at his other hand in Launchpad’s. “No, no! I like everything we’ve been doing! I’m saying I like you and I like the stuff we’ve been doing! I like you a lot actually! I want you to stay _ forever! _ I-” 

He cut himself off, looking even more embarrassed, with the realization of his own words, and scrambled to brush it off. “I-I know that’s silly! I say silly stuff. You know, I almost told Jim I wanted to keep him in a jar in my closet at the meet and greet. H-ha… so silly! Y-y-yeah...” 

Launchpad truly didn't know what to say at first. His blush deepened slightly, but so did his grip on Drake's hand. Drake couldn't have known that he had been thinking about staying; in fact, he had been thinking about it a  _ whole  _ lot. Daydreaming about it, really. The truth was, the whole time Drake had been unconscious, Launchpad had been busy fretting, pacing anxiously around the house, power-cleaning and worrying and trying to distract himself as he waited for Drake to recover enough to wake up so he could work up the nerve to ask him about it.

"W-Well you would have needed a pretty big jar, and honestly your closet doesn’t have that much space. Might’ve saved you some trouble, though.” He laughed awkwardly, then lowered his voice, speaking in a soft, tender tone. “Forever is… a long time, though. I don't think Mr. McDee will pay me to be on vacation that long." 

He wanted to wrap Drake up in a hug and squeeze him, but he reminded himself not to, broken ribs and all. So instead he took Drake's hand and held it to the side of his face. "I guess I'll have to give him my resignation when we go visit, huh?"

“What?! _ Resignation? _ ! Wait-wait-wait! You’re a pro pilot… no, I couldn’t possibly ask you to do that! I mean, that’s your whole life, what about your adventures? I-- um.” Having let slip that he really did want Launchpad to stay forever, Drake didn’t think LP would just up and accept the idea so readily! He scrambled around for words. “Well, why not stay here a while, then, uh...well, you can go back and visit and decide? After all, they’re your family. I don’t want you to rush anything like that! But… I am really moved that you took care of me what--what day is it now? Friday? The last week and a half? What did you even do all that time while I slept?” 

"Oh, uh...well…" It occurred to Launchpad that Drake could probably feel how hot his cheeks were – since his hand was currently pressed into the feathers of his face – and he pulled Drake’s hand away gingerly, holding it between both of his own instead. "I spent a lot of time just thinking. About everything that's happened, about Darkwing Duck, about… about you…"

He paused, feeling like if he said the wrong thing now he would crash the conversation – just like he crashed most everything else.

He swallowed hard. 

"I... I’m really glad I was here to help out. Not just that...I... I like being the one that you can count on." He looked down, feeling a bit self-conscious suddenly. "I don't know if that counts for much, but… it makes me happy." 

To Drake, it counted. It meant so,  _ so _ much more than he felt he could capture into words. Still, he tried; he had to try. He felt like he ought to at least make an attempt after everything Launchpad had done, everything they’d already been through together…  _ Has it really only been a few weeks?  _

“Oh, it counts for everything.” Drake was absolutely sure Launchpad could see how plain the dusting of pink was on his face. “I know this might sound reckless coming from the guy who nearly died a little over a week ago, but it really has been great. A-and not the bleeding organs part. The  _ you  _ part. You rescuing me and taking care of me and...you know, as dashing and clever as I can be, you’re the other half of it all. You hold everything together. And sticking with this and sticking with you would make me happy, too.” 

The urge to wrap Drake up in a hug was becoming almost irresistible. As he fought against it, Launchpad found himself leaning closer to him without even realizing it.

"Man, I really want to give you a hug, but… your ribs…" He let out a soft, awkward laugh, his hand moving to linger just above his injuries, hesitating.

Carefully, Drake took Launchpad’s arm in his own, pulling it gently around him and putting his own arms around Launchpad.

“Not really a hug, but it’ll do until I’m not as fragile as a paper bag. Thanks, LP. It’s got the energy of a hug, how about that.”

Shockingly, Drake was wrong. The energy wasn't anything like a hug. It was even better. Closer, more intimate. He leaned down, resting his forehead lightly against Drake's shoulder, smiling into it.

"Yeah...it's...it's nice." He wasn't even sure if he said that out loud. His heart was beating so hard he could barely hear himself think, and if he  _ had  _ spoken, it was scarcely a whisper. In that moment, with their arms around each other, it felt like they would be safe from anything. Nothing could touch them; not grief for their lost hero, not the long days and rank smell of garbage, not broken ribs or twelve flights of stairs, not even Negaduck. 

As long as they were like this, they were safe, no matter how dangerous things got. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a short chapter, but it didn't really fit at the end of the Negaduck chapter or the beginning of the next one. Again, thank you so, so much for reading!


	6. Let's Get Help

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning - this chapter contains: PTSD and discussion of trauma.

“This still sucks! How am I supposed to build the secret lair? What about our trash collecting? What about supervillains across the city? Darkwing Duck doesn’t do bedrest! I’m going to go stir crazy if I have to just lay around the apartment for another two weeks! I can always brush up on my lore and techniques, but no endurance or dexterity training? No heavy lifting? Is this what  _ really  _ defeats meeeeee?” Drake whined. He was going to develop a serious case of cabin fever from all of this confinement, he was sure of it!

Launchpad let out a little sigh, releasing Drake reluctantly and putting a hand gently on his shoulder.

"Come on, you're not defeated yet! The doctor said four weeks, and you've done almost two full weeks already… Plus, you heal quicker than anyone else I've seen! I'm sure you'll be up and about in no time at all!"

Launchpad got up, disappeared into Drake's bedroom for a minute, then reappeared with his costume. It was now cleaned and patched up, the tears and damage from their fight with Negaduck repaired with careful but somewhat clumsy hand stitching. He laid it on the table in front of him, putting the hat on top of his head.

"You'll be able to wear this as soon as you're healed up. But until then, the mission is to rest and research! It could even be fun! We can watch episodes, get deep in the lore, take notes, and now that we know Fenton is the one helping out we can call him with questions more often…" He smiled, sitting back down at the table next to him."So don't worry so much. You'll be back in action before you know it." 

Drake wanted to collapse into a puddle on the floor.  _ Four weeks? Does he even know how long that sounds? _

Regardless, Launchpad had done so much… and he had accomplished so much.

He was right, too. With Fenton helping out, he could actually provide technical help with what they didn’t understand. At one point, he had attempted to explain how one of the chemical reactions worked on a molecular level to Drake, who awkwardly just answered with  _ “I knew about half of those words.”  _ Drake treated them like recipes, and he was a lot better at cooking than chemistry (even if he seemed to always forget the stupid milk).

“You’re right. But it still stinks. What if some supervillain is building a freeze ray or a giant robot to destroy St. Canard right  _ NOW _ ?” He groaned dramatically.

An idea took shape in Launchpad’s mind, but he knew Drake would hate absolutely every single thing about it. "Hey, uh… I know you won't like it, but if you're really worried about the city being in trouble while you're recovering, I might have an idea. But you…  _ really _ aren't gonna like it…" 

Drake didn’t move to get up. “Well if you have any ideas for protecting the city, you don’t have to get my approval, LP, you can just do it! You’re your own duck, you don’t answer to me.”

"Uh...well, if you're sure, DW. Just don't say I didn't warn you..." 

He pulled his phone out and dialed Fenton's number, which was the number for Gearloose Labs, putting the phone on speaker. Dr. Gearloose never answered the phone himself – that was the intern's job – and even though he wasn't the intern anymore, Fenton still did it out of habit. 

After the loud background noise died down a bit and Fenton greeted him, Launchpad chose his words as carefully as he could.

"Hey! It's Launchpad again. I'm still here with Drake. I'm calling because, well, we were wondering if Gizmoduck is free for about...er...the next two weeks or so? I know you...know a guy who knows him so I was hoping you could...uh...ask him for us?" 

Fenton was hesitant in his reply. He, too, was choosing his words carefully. “I shouldn’t go around telling people I know Gizmoduck, I mean uh-- the lab is going to be closed for a few weeks thanks to some chaotic time travel and robot battle activity… I’m not too—er, I mean I don’t see why he would be busy. Why? Need some pylons held up or some ceremonies attended? You can really just hire somebody for that, or build them properly the first time…” 

He sighed, biting back his disappointment. He was more than a bit tired of the fact that people always wanted favors from Gizmoduck. Why was it always  _ where _ is Gizmoduck, never  _ HOW _ is Gizmoduck? “But I can relay a message to Gizmoduck for you. What do you need?”

Drake stared at Launchpad like he had lost his mind, then glanced at the phone in utter horror. Gizmoduck? As in possibly THE single lamest, most insufferable, obnoxiously overrated, absolute corporate  _ tool  _ of an excuse for a hero  _ ever… _ ?  _ THAT  _ Gizmoduck? Was he serious? Launchpad offered the phone to him with a little apologetic smile of encouragement, and Drake wanted to just lay down face first on the table. Of  _ all  _ the possible heroes, it had to be that junky bucket of bolts?! Still, he reluctantly took the phone, speaking into it with a flat, pained tone.

“Actually… the hero of St. Canard...had to, uh… leave. For a while. For an emergency. To deal with some other stuff. And can’t fight crime. For a couple weeks. So. Everybody here is awfully  _ worried… _ ” This was excruciating, and that was saying something considering the week he’d had. As Drake spoke, pulling out each word was like pulling out broken feathers _. _ Gizmoduck had to be among his least favorite heroes  _ ever _ . He really didn’t  _ suit  _ Saint Canard. Or hero work in general, in Drake’s opinion. “...about what to do...without him.” He finished, wanting to rake his hands down his face. Why?! Why did it have to be  _ Gizmoduck?! _

“So you want me to ask him to come to St. Canard for a while? I can probably do that. He  _ is  _ the one you call when there’s trouble.”

Drake sucked in air through his teeth.  _ That  _ stung his ego more than he wanted to admit.

“...Yeah,  _ sure _ .”

“I’ll uh, I’ll contact him. I can text you or Launchpad about it? Duckburg has been quiet, so maybe I’ll come too. Dr. Gearloose really needs some time away from the lab too... That is… if that’s okay?”

“Thanks... that’s… great. Yeah. Great.”

After they ended the call, Drake groaned loudly and face-planted flat against the table, and Launchpad sat there, looking at the phone a bit guiltily. Finally, he gave Drake a helpless look and spread his hands. "I did say you wouldn't like it…" He sighed. "At least the city will be safer… I mean, Gizmoduck is better than nothing, right? Hey, and Fenton said he might come up and bring Dr. Gearloose too! With the two of them here helping us research we could get tons done. Uh… just… as long as we make sure none of Dr. Gearloose's inventions get… uh… loose…" He trailed off. "Still though! This is...good, right?" 

Drake smushed his hands into his cheek feathers indignantly for a few moments, sulking. "Yes... yes, it's good. You did the right thing. It's the right thing to do. It just hurts my  _ pride _ . You're a good person, Launchpad. I'm not  _ that  _ kind of good." He whined.

Launchpad softened, giving him a little smirk. "You're good enough to hurt your pride for the good of St. Canard. Sounds pretty heroic to me."

Poor Drake. Launchpad knew this must be really hard for him. Not just the pain, but the limitation, especially after all the progress they were making with training, and getting together gear, and finding a secret lair. His heart ached. He wished there was more he could do for him. "Gee, DW, I wish I could find some way to cheer you up a little. I know this is rough for you..."

"You cheer me up just by being here, LP. Really, you do! I know I'm being ridiculous. You're here to do the right thing when I'm too caught up in my pride." Drake stood up. "I do...have an idea, for something that might be fun, though. Some training we could do that won't uh... aggravate my injuries."

Launchpad looked up at him, intrigued. "Oh? What did you have in mind?" He resisted the urge to reach out and help Drake, trying to preserve at least some of his dignity.

"No offense... you're a big adventurer, so I think you may have never been to this kind of place."

Drake got up, and picked up a sweatshirt from the back of one of the nearby chairs, grunting a little. It wasn’t from his injuries; his abdominal muscles hadn't been used much in the past few days, and hadn't been stretched as much as usual since his daily routine had been neglected. He was used to regular endurance workouts, though  _ endurance  _ mainly meant climbing twelve flights of stairs multiple times each day. Having successfully conquered the sweater all on his own, Drake gave Launchpad an enigmatic smile and grabbed his keys. "This is more of a city boy kind of training. It's not far."

Now Launchpad was more intrigued than before, and he followed behind him, though he fretted at the doorway.

"The stairs...if they're too much for you...I can...I mean, if you push yourself it will only take longer for you to heal." Launchpad frowned, rubbing the back of his neck. He had carried Drake up the stairs when he was unconscious, and he had no problem doing it again, but he didn't want to push the issue.

"I'll walk. Not uh... use my usual way of going down the stairs." He took it slow, and actually even used the handrail for once. "I promise I'll let you know if it’s too much," He added, noting the expression of concern on Launchpad's face _. _

Drake knew the way like the back of his hand: down an alleyway, and then another, left down a side street, and up some stairs. When he entered, the front room was a modest mom-and-pop comic shop. The comic shop itself was empty and quiet, but there were muffled 8-bit and pinball machine sounds emanating from another room. A spectacled, mid-twenties canine with a short buzz cut hairstyle and a loose-fitting Powerline tee shirt leaned casually against the front desk. He regarded Drake with an air of familiarity, looking up from the issue of  _ AV Junkie  _ magazine he was skimming and setting down the can of spray cheese in his hand as he grinned at them. 

"Hey~! It's Drake  _ Ma-a-a-llard _ ! It's been a while! I heard you moved to Duckburg! Did you hear about the crazy break-ins at the museum? Everybody's super bummed out. Not just about that, but about Jim, too." He had a drawling manner of speaking that wasn’t quite southern, but was far more relaxed than one would expect. It had an infectious chill-out effect on the attitude of anyone he spoke to, immediately putting them at ease. That is, provided they weren't an authority figure, of course.

Drake nodded, putting a hand uneasily over his ribs, almost as a reflex. "Yeah, I'm... definitely going through a mourning period, you could say... Oh hey, Bobby, this is my pal Launchpad. He's cool."

Bobby rested his entire forearm against the counter, leaning forward as he spoke.

"Yo. Nice to meet you. Welcome to the GeekEasy. If you're looking for rare comics or hard to find collectibles, we're where it's at. We got you, bruh. What's your poison? _Three Musketeers? Trollhunters?_ Gizmoduck? We've got manga too. _Calamari Sisters,_ _Welcome to Demon School Iruma-kun, Cooking Fight..._ Everybody's always got a fixation. Aaaaand, if you think you don’t, you’ll find one.” He gestured lazily about the tiny shop.

Launchpad trusted Drake to let him know if the pain got to be too much, but he had slipped the bottle of painkillers in his jacket pocket on the way out anyway, just in case. After all, the Junior Woodchuck Guidebook did say the best preparation was to always be prepared.

As they walked into the shop, Launchpad looked around, wide-eyed. To him it was some kind of geek utopia. He had never been to a place like this before. When Drake introduced him he was a bit worried that it would be awkward because they already seemed to know each other well, but the keeper of the store seemed to instantly recognize him as one of their own.

He grinned sheepishly.

"Oh, uh...I'm really into Darkwing Duck...have been ever since I was a kid. Jim being gone has been… pretty rough on both of us." He glanced at Drake with a slight frown and put a hand lightly on his shoulder.

"Oh yeah! It’s a niche community, but plenty of fans really felt like Jim was a pioneer, you know? No disrespect, but man, Darkwing Duck attracts some really intense fans, you guys really believe in something. That's cool. I can totally respect that." He fist-bumped Drake, who was leaning against the counter.

Drake gestured with one hand towards the back of the shop. "Say, Bobby, are you open for business right now?"

Bobby shrugged and picked the can of spray cheese back up, tossing it back and forth in his hands as he spoke. "Well, kinda yes and kiiiinda no. We're open, but nobody's running the bar right now because you’re lookin’ at the only guy on duty. If you want drinks, you'll have to use the vending machine."

"That's fine. I'm here to  _ play _ ." Drake gave him a wry smile as he pulled out a $20 bill and slid it across the counter in exchange for a roll of quarters. "Thanks, man."

"Right on, get down with the  _ game-a-a-ge _ ! Hit me up if you guys need anything. It’s been pretty slow lately. Oh, and if you need more quarters, get them from me. The change machine is still broken."

Drake took the roll of quarters and gestured to Launchpad to follow him. The back room opened up, to Launchpad’s surprise, into a black-lit arcade. Retro game cabinets were lined up along one side of the room, across from which were typical arcade games such as skeeball, whack-a-mole, and free throws. In the corner a small, tasteful counter was arranged with a bunch of movie posters behind it and a selection of drinks displayed on shelves – the bar Bobby had mentioned. The vending machines stood neatly beside it. Along the back wall were more modern interactive dance and shooting games bracketed by crane machines loaded with a variety of colorful prizes. Finally, tucked against the opposite side were rows of foreign game cabinets; mostly rhythm, dance and a few themed anime adventure games. Altogether they formed a flashing, beeping, interactive den of light and sound.

Best of all, it was almost empty – just some scattered patrons at their usual spots, who paid them no mind. 

Drake turned around, making a wide, sweeping gesture with his arms, as if presenting the backroom arcade to Launchpad like he was a giant audience for approval. _ "This _ is what I meant by city boy training!"

Launchpad stopped in shock for a moment and just stared, sweeping his gaze across all the video games. "It's like Funzo's Funzone and a casino had an awesome baby, and the baby grew up to be everything I've ever dreamed of!" He looked at Drake with awe. "You come to a place like this to train all the time? And you think  _ I'm _ cool?!"

"Well, it's not  _ exploring uncharted jungles or oceans, _ but yeah. It's sort of a nerd hangout. Oh, hey, what's the discussion question this week?" He wondered aloud, walking over to a corkboard that had tons of small pieces of paper stuck on it, each with different handwriting. There was a larger piece of paper at the top that read:

" _ Robot Army or Clone Army: which would win? _ "

The smaller papers had answers, some just one word, while others had mini essays, written in various handwriting. There was a tiny sticky note pad mounted beside the board, along with a cup of pens on a hook into the wall.

"Ohhh, that's a good one. Every few weeks they change up the question, compile everyone's answers, and write it on the message board. The question is usually pretty general, and you can leave topic suggestions at the counter. No drama allowed, though, so no pitting franchises against one another or trivia-type questions. It's like an open forum for nerds, except nobody has to actually talk to each other. We don't always have the best people skills."

Launchpad studied the board for a second. His mind flashed to a vivid half-memory. A memory of a future that hadn't happened yet. Legions of identical ducks marching against waves of robotic soldiers, their footsteps shaking the very earth, explosions filling the air with dust. And the  _ screams _ ...the screams that never seemed to stop, along with the screeching of metal...

The sounds of the arcade brought him back to his current reality and he shook his head slightly, a hard expression on his face _.  _ "Nobody wins that battle."

"You okay there...?" Drake asked, a bit concerned at the distant, thoughtful look on Launchpad’s face.

Launchpad looked down at his hands, then glanced at Drake. He laughed awkwardly. "Uh, yeah! I'm okay. I guess this just uh… isn't really my thing." He shot a quick, uncomfortable glance at the board and rubbed the back of his neck _. _ "So… there's a lot of different games here, huh? Which one's your favorite?"

Drake took a piece of paper and wrote down Launchpad's answer anyways, pinning it to the board _. _ "My favorite? Well, I'm a master of  _ Du-beat _ , it's a rhythm game that tests your reflexes by having you tap little squares super fast in time with the music. But also  _ House of Zombies 3 _ , it’s a rail shooter, and there's some really retro stuff too, like  _ Mars Invaders!" _

"If  _ Mars Invaders _ is anything like Moon Invaders then we should probably start our training there!" He was joking, but only partially. Thinking about that future had him a little unsettled, especially considering everything that had happened recently. Whether he was willing to admit it to himself or not, the past few weeks might have been starting to get to him _. _

"It's a pixel game. You've never played? You have to avoid getting hit, but the ships come in patterns, so you have to figure out how to dodge; dodging is more important than shooting. They say there's even a secret ending of the game if you can beat the whole thing without shooting, but nobody I know of has actually beaten the last boss that way. Wanna try?"

"Uh, well… dodging isn't exactly my strong point..." He looked around, then lit up, pointing to something across the room. "Oh! What!? No way! They have that rare two player  _ Beat-ritto _ arcade cabinet imported? I didn't think any of those even made their way to America!"

“Beat-ri-what? Oh! That one? Yeah, some of the really hardcore guys here are super into it, but I’ve never tried.” 

The sheer excitement on Launchpad’s face could have healed his aching ribs twelve times over, he was sure of it.

As they stepped up to the machine, Launchpad handed him a moulded controller made of hard foam in the vague shape of a burrito, with two buttons inlaid in the front of it and a joystick on the top. The player characters appeared on the screen, two muscle-bound walking burritos. They flexed at the screen, and faced a hoard of enemies that resembled pixelated zombies with flesh made from chips, sour cream, and salsa. Upbeat music played as Launchpad hit the start button. He jumped up and down in place slightly several times, a bundle of nervous excitement. The game yelled at them: 

_ "ARE YOU READY TO GET SPICED UP?" _

He grinned, and pressed the start button. Drake wasn’t fantastic at the game, but he wasn’t horrible. Launchpad, on the other hand, was a natural. They went five rounds, and after that Drake left some quarters on the machine for Launchpad to keep playing, while he went to practice his own favorite:  _ Du-Beat _ . 

There was something really fun and satisfying about going wild on the rhythm game, his fingers flying across the grid of sixteen buttons in time to the music.  _ Reaction time, flow _ . 

Why couldn’t he apply that feeling to their encounters with villains? When he got into the groove, it was like thinking stopped entirely. Just like when he stomped on that fanged flower when they faced Dr. Bushroot.  _ Don’t think, just act.  _ When he functioned on autopilot, somehow they always seemed to make it out okay.

_ Do the right thing at the right time, because you just know it’s the right thing to do _ . Simple enough, but it wasn’t something he could figure out how to do consciously. Just breathe.  _ Flow... _

He tapped at the game for several rounds, until he realized his quarters were running low. Well, that meant it was time to go check on Launchpad. This place was like a playground for him. 

Meanwhile, a strange hush had settled over the arcade. The _ Beat-ritto _ machine lay idle. In fact, even most of the regular players had abandoned their cabinets. In the back corner, a small crowd had gathered around the _ Dead Duck Rising II  _ cabinet in awed silence to watch something unprecedented. 

One brave onlooker broke the tension with an exclamation: "Woah! He just broke the all-time record!" 

Another quickly followed it up with: "No, I just looked it up online! Two thousand more points and  _ then  _ he beats the world record!" 

This was almost immediately followed with a strained whisper of:  _ "Shhhh! _ Shut up! You'll break his concentration!" 

There, at the center of the crowd's focus, was Launchpad McQuack, dual-wielding a pair of day-glo orange laser rifle controllers. In stark contrast to the silent, rapturous crowd of onlookers, he looked and behaved as though he were fighting for his very survival. 

"BACK TO THE SULPHUR PITS, DEMONS! HAUNT THIS MORTAL PLANE NO LONGER! I HAVE READ FROM THE SACRED ANCIENT SCROLL AND BANISHED YOU TO THE NETHERWORLD FROM WHENCE YOU CAME." 

He shot the fake guns with deadly precision, dodging from side to side and moving with reflexes that were clearly driven from nearly 30 years of terror-fueled instinct. Not that anyone else knew that but him. The machine made a loud howling noise and showed a full moon, along with large red letters that said  _ CONGRATULATIONS, YOU SURVIVED! _ followed by  _ NEW HIGH SCORE _ . 

A high score that was  _ ridiculously  _ high. 

In fact, it was the highest anyone had ever gotten. 

Launchpad McQuack had just beaten the world record for high score at  _ Dead Duck Rising II _ , and he looked like he might pass out. 

He leaned against the cabinet. 

The crowd cheered.

The gathered crowd slowly dispersed over the next few minutes, and Drake overheard murmurs from the patrons about how they’d just witnessed gaming history, including questions of “Who _ IS _ this guy?” and “That was amazing! He didn’t hesitate once!” 

Drake applauded, then hesitated before resting a hand on Launchpad’s shoulder, passing him a can of cold Pep. “Say, LP! That was amazing! You were so focused. And er, really into it. I had no idea you were a  _ Dead Duck Rising  _ player. The competitive scene is nuts too. How’d you get so good?”

Launchpad took a long, slow sip of the Pep, and then looked Drake right in the eye. He had an odd, distant expression on his face. 

"Oh, that was my first time. I'd never heard of it before but it, uh...called to me." 

It was clear by the strangely ominous, serious tone of voice that he wasn't joking. That really was his first time playing.

After a moment’s hesitation, Drake rested a hand on Launchpad’s arm, rubbing it comfortingly. “Well, you were incredible! People train for years at that game and aren’t that good. It’s supposed to be one of the hardest games at the GeekEasy. But you… Well, are you okay….?”

Launchpad didn't say anything: not until he had finished all of his Pep. He crushed the can and threw it in the trash nearby. Then, taking Drake by the hand, he spoke in that same mysterious, almost monotonous voice. 

"Drake Mallard, we are both out of quarters. The time has come. Quickly! Take my hand and walk home with me and I shall tell you my tale…"

As they walked and Launchpad told the harrowing tale of his annual Halloween adventures, it dawned on Drake that there was some sort of horrifying irony to the fact that Launchpad had… never really understood Halloween until very recently. Not only that, but blaming himself for what he believed to be a massive outbreak of demonic monsters every year? 

Even as they returned to the apartment (and Launchpad had to help him up the last few flights of stairs, much to Drake’s dismay), his first thoughts were along the lines of:  _ Oh, what a shame, that means Launchpad never got to be Darkwing Duck for Halloween! _ But they later devolved into the fridge-horror realization that Launchpad probably was… really scared and alone all that time. For over twenty years. And that he felt responsible for it... 

“Hey, LP... “ he attempted after their quiet dinner. They sat safely back at the kitchen table, musing over a shopping list for supplies for their secret lair. “You know, you don’t have to face stuff like that alone anymore. If anything ever scares you, I’ll be near to help chase away fear.” 

Launchpad’s eyes were distant, and his face seemed blank as he idly pushed a cold string bean around the bottom of his empty takeout box with his chopsticks. He sighed and put the box down on the table, leaning his head on his hand. Drake couldn’t help but notice the slight twitch to his fingers, the way he carried tension in them as he moved. Like he was holding something back.

"I don't really mind being scared, it's not the demons that scared me…" He closed his eyes for a moment. "Just thinking...that I had unleashed that curse on Duckburg, on my home...on my friends…" 

Launchpad crossed his arms on the table and plopped his head down onto them. "It felt like I was some kind of villain for all those years..." He mumbled into his arms, despondent. 

“Well, you weren’t  _ actually  _ releasing demons… so there is that. It wasn’t real. I know it doesn’t mean much now. But it’s okay. And hey, that means next year you can enjoy Halloween if you want!” 

Drake was a bit awkward, mostly because he had no real idea how to comfort someone in this sort of serious emotional distress. He knew full well that saying ‘there, there’ wasn’t exactly going to remove years upon years of horrifying trauma. “And in fighting them off… you clearly were trying to stop the villainy you thought you unleashed, you know? You were doing the right thing. You were trying to defeat that evil. That’s still pretty cool of you, like I said. It was you versus the world, and hey, you sort of won at the end, didn’t you?” 

Launchpad picked up his head and rested his chin on his arms instead of burying his face, glancing up at Drake. "I guess so. I mean I  _ did  _ save Dewey and the kids from those real monsters… at least, I think I did? But I did also scare a lot of trick or treaters… oh, but I did banish the demons again...oh...wait...right…" His tone of voice shifted from upbeat to negative throughout that sentence, settling on uncertainty. "Ugh, and I missed so many Hallowoons too! Hanging out with friends, dressing up in costumes and getting free candy from strangers…" He threw his arms up in exasperation. "Why did I ever read that stupid scroll?!" 

Drake stammered for a moment, before he could come up with a real answer. “W-w-well! You were a kid. And you’re 33 now...you can’t beat yourself up for things you did, what, twenty-five years ago? I kinda regret things I did two, maybe three  _ weeks  _ ago, and since then I’ve realized that I’m still slick and cool! Even the coolest and slickest people make mistakes, and, well, this metaphor is getting away from me.” He cleared his throat.

“Let me try that again. You’re cool and brave: you’re the bravest person I know. But you still can make mistakes. You were brave enough to face a world full of demons every single year for years and years, all by yourself. If you’re going to beat yourself up for your mistake, you also have to give yourself credit for that. You can’t just beat yourself up for bad things, you have to let yourself feel accomplished for the good things too. Was that uh, inspirational? I hope that was inspirational enough.”

Launchpad sunk back into his arms to mope, but he was listening to every word, and by the end of it his shoulders began to tremble slightly. 

Immediately after Drake asked whether it was inspirational enough, Launchpad started sobbing into his arms, completely overwhelmed with years of unresolved trauma that nobody had known about, let alone bothered to help him address, for most of his life.

Drake's words broke something inside of him, some emotional wall that Launchpad had built to protect himself from the demons, and the fear, and the loneliness, and the knowledge that it was his own fault, that he had put himself in that terrible place. Now, it was all rushing out in heavy, choked sobs, and he was powerless to stop it, so he simply let it happen. Even though Drake was sitting right there, and he would see, and...and… he just couldn’t hold back the tears. His mouth was somehow too wet and too dry at the same time, and the sandpaper feeling in his throat made him want to swallow hard enough to swallow his tongue. 

_ It was all his fault.  _ Child and adult-sized demons dressed as everything from witches to bumblebees to zombies, walking the streets, repeating their mantra, singing, laughing, mocking and tormenting him with their mirth… it sickened him, especially when they took special joy in haunting him with forms that vaguely resembled his loved ones. The demons were endlessly cruel, and they came every year, no matter what, demanding tribute. Sweet, sugary tribute. That was the curse!  _ His curse!  _ Even if it wasn’t supposed to be real, it  _ felt  _ real. For so much of his life, he faced pumpkin-filled streets and “trick-or-treat!”s over and over. He choked back a sob.

Drake’s eyes widened.  __

_ Oh god. Was that the worst possible thing I could’ve said?  _

He thought it was sort of encouraging! How do you help somebody unpack a literal _ lifetime _ of trauma? He liked to take his own traumas and shove them deep down inside of his soul, covered by as many action figures and video games and fanfiction as possible so that he could just pretend it wasn’t a problem.

For Drake, it was coming from a lost egg, being tossed around foster homes, getting his first job way too young so he could move out on his own as early as possible… Dealing with all of it was easier if he just shoved all of his emotions in a box and stacked comic books on top of it. Again, pretending it wasn’t a problem. It still sort of  _ was, _ but it was a dressed up, less threatening problem in a cute little purple Darkwing Duck hat.

He got up and moved over to Launchpad, putting his arms around him as comfortingly as he could as he rubbed small circles into his back. 

“Hey, hey, ssshhh… you’re okay now, it’s okay...um! Uhhh, here, come sit with me on the couch, if you keep watering that green bean it’s going to grow bigger than those monster zukes… and we both know I’m in no condition to fight some monster vegetables right now. You’ll have to beat them away with the cheese grater or something. They’ll take over my apartment, spill out into the street, solve world hunger, it’ll be a whole thing.” 

He was trying not to panic.  _ How do you comfort somebody? What’s being nice? What’s something that makes somebody feel better? Come on, Drake!  _

“We can do Halloween together next year ourselves… we can dress up, go trick or treating, go to a party… whatever you want. The GeekEasy throws a party every year, it’s kinda cool. I mean, if you wanted to visit. Or I could come visit you in Duckburg… I know you missed a lot of Halloweens, but now we can make new Halloween memories. I bet your family in Duckburg will be happy to help you catch up!” 

Drake's hand moving against his back was soothing, and gradually Launchpad was able to slow his sobbing into a light sniffle. His partner's attempts at comfort were awkward and a bit desperate, but the only thing that mattered to Launchpad was that they were genuine. When his breathing had evened out in some measure, Launchpad raised his head slightly, peeking up from the damp sleeve of his coat. 

"We could really go together, you mean it?" He sniffled once more, then sat up a little, wiping at his eyes somewhat fruitlessly. "Nobody has ever been so… so nice to me. I mean...that's not true, plenty of people are nice to me, but… not like that… I guess it's just...something you said...or the way you said it… I'm not used to…" he trailed off. He didn't quite know how to say what he needed to say. His head felt a bit light from all the sobbing still. He glanced at Drake, then glanced wistfully at the couch, his cheek feathers still flushed. 

"Can we, uh...I mean...do you still want to sit on the couch…?" 

_ Oh god! Did that help?  _ Drake wondered. 

To Drake, Launchpad seemed a little better, or was he just crying-tired? Is further unpacking the trauma just making everything feel worse? It probably should--is that helping? Or making the trauma dig itself in deeper? Still a bit unsure, Drake nodded, standing up and offering a hand to him. “We can watch old Darkwing Duck episodes if you want. Just binge. We don’t even have to take notes if you don’t want to. How about that?”

Launchpad stood up and took Drake's hand, allowing himself to be led over to the couch. He sat down, then immediately stood back up and vanished into the bathroom, re-emerging several moments later having changed into the cozy sweater Drake gave him when he first got there which was noticeably  _ not  _ covered in snot. He had also washed his face and looked a bit less flushed. He paused to grab a throw blanket off of the arm of the couch as he sat back down, then he set about making a comfortable little nest for them to sit in. "I thought we could just...sit here together for a while. I'm uh...not really in the mood to watch anything." He frowned slightly. "Sorry, is that...weird?" 

Drake’s eyes widened again, not as much in fear or panic, but in the realization that all of those confusing, swirling feelings from earlier, the same ones that kept repeatedly crawling up from deep inside of him to make his life more difficult and complicated than it needed to be, were coming back to him in one big rush. He wished vehemently that he could figure out a way to shove them into that little box beneath the comic books in his mental closet for good as he sat cross-legged on the couch, leaving plenty of space for Launchpad to sit down beside him. “What? Tch! No! Not at all! Totally cool. Not weird. I could use some chill time anyway.” 

Yeah, ‘chill time,’ not like he had just been hit in the face with this weird attachment to Launchpad he was feeling for the umpeenth time.  _ Nope. Not weird at all.  _

Launchpad seemed relieved, scooting in next to him and leaning on his shoulder hesitantly. "How's...uh...how are your ribs feeling? Do you want me to uh...scoot over a bit or…?" He was careful not to put any of his weight on him.

“They kinda feel the same as they felt when you asked me half an hour ago,” Drake shrugged, trying to settle into a good position where Launchpad wouldn’t feel like he had to hold him up or something. Not that he minded Launchpad holding him. (Not that he would say that aloud. Like, ever. It was totally not weird, right? Yeah, definitely not weird. Or was he just making it weird because he didn’t know how to feel?) It wasn’t like LP ever overstepped his boundaries or made him uncomfortable. Just the opposite, actually. He felt safe, protected...and something else. “No, you’re fine. This spot is good.” 

_ H-ha. Best not to think about it too much _ . Drake decided.

Launchpad pulled his legs up under him onto the couch, getting comfortable. He allowed himself to lean slightly against Drake's shoulder, reasoning that his shoulder wasn't broken. He trusted Drake to say something if he was hurting him, though he was still mindful of the arm he had draped around his waist. 

"I...I'm sorry you had to...uh...deal with that, I mean...with me, with my...problems or...or feelings or whatever…" He rubbed the side of his face, sighing. "I guess I shoved that one down too deep and that stuff you said about making mistakes and being a hero and...and not beating yourself up…I think I just...I really needed someone to say that to me. So...I'm sorry it had to be you but… thanks."

Drake stared at Launchpad’s arm around his waist blankly for a moment, his entire brain just blue screening. He was incredibly grateful that Launchpad was behind him and not looking at his  _ bright red _ face. What was he supposed to think? How was he supposed to comfort him when his brain wouldn’t even process words? Still, he attempted a response.

“You don’t have to apologize to me. That kind of stuff can mess a guy up. If you feel bad about it, think of it like me sort of a little bit repaying you for carrying me to the hospital and then taking me home afterwards, and taking care of me all this time and stuff. You know, because I, too, needed to be comforted after a traumatic experience I endured. Mine was just... you know, having the snot beaten out of me by my former idol.”

Launchpad put a hand gently on Drake's cheek, stroking his thumb over the fluffy feathers that framed his face. It was a gesture of comfort, and he couldn't exactly hug him… 

"Hey, listen DW, that wasn't your fault. Jim wasn't all there. He was already coming unhinged at the studio, you can't blame yourself for that." 

He couldn't see Drake's face because of the way they were sitting, but he nuzzled his head against his shoulder and hoped it helped him feel better. After all, he had just done so much to pull him out of his emotional pit of sorrows, he wasn't about to let him order any more pizzas…

“I’ll be okay. And I think you will too,” he almost instinctively nuzzled his fluffy cheek feathers against Launchpad’s face, then realized what he was doing, and prayed to whatever supernatural forces that might exist that Launchpad didn’t feel the heat from his face and assume he had a horrible fever or something. “You know something, LP? It might be awhile before you’re okay, and that’s okay. You don’t have to be okay, as long as you’re working through it. It’ll be better eventually, even if you feel like it won’t be better for a long time. Same with this whole Negaduck thing. Guess you can cross  _ Get an arch nemesis _ off of our big hero to-do list, huh…” 

"Yeah, I guess that's true! We're one step closer to being true heroes, huh? Hurray for us." But he smiled, and pressed his face against Drake's shoulder as he did. He lingered there for a moment, just enjoying sharing space with him. "I think you're right though. About both of us being okay...eventually. But...especially...I mean...if we have each other, if we're together…" The larger duck placed his free hand over Drake's chest, realizing with some joy that he could pull him into his arms without putting any pressure at all on his ribs, as long as he was very, very careful about it. "I have a feeling that nothing will be able to keep us from getting back up again."

Somehow thoughts became both easier and more difficult once he was in Launchpad’s arms. 

“Y-Yeah, exactly… getting back up just means it didn’t defeat you. It doesn’t mean that you’re okay… I don’t really know how long it’ll be before I’m really okay. I mean, not physically, I mean, in my brain, you know? Tomorrow, I might feel okay, and think I’m over it, but maybe the next day I won’t be. It might be something like that. While I was laying in bed the past week or so, I’d occasionally just wake up and feel sorry for myself… sometimes I would feel like I ruined everything, until I just fell back asleep. Today, I felt pretty okay. You know, getting up, talking to Fenton, seeing that you were still here, the GeekEasy, takeout… all that stuff, but it doesn’t mean I won’t feel horrible tomorrow. And that’s not your fault. That’s just how these things are.” He relaxed against Launchpad, leaning into his embrace. In a way, this was the best place in the world to him at that moment, and he savored the feeling of comfort and safety it gave him before he continued. “And! If you need me to help you get back up again, I don’t see any shame in that. You saved me. If you weren’t here… well, let’s just say I’m awful lucky you were.”

Launchpad was careful not to squeeze or press into him too hard, just gently resting his arms around him. Still though, it felt nicer than he wanted to admit to hold him. He realized that Negaduck had done an extra layer of damage, an extra little spiteful bit of evil, depriving them of nearly a full month's worth of hugs. He made a mental note to pay him back for it next time they saw him. 

Thinking of Negaduck, his grip on Drake became, almost imperceptibly, not tighter, but….closer. More secure. Like he wanted to protect him from the very thought, not allow anything to creep into this moment of warmth and comfort and ruin it. 

"Hey… DW… I've been thinking...about...about Duckburg...and...staying here…" He leaned his head down against Drake’s shoulder again, keeping it still there for a moment. He was acutely aware that Drake could probably feel how fast his heart was beating, nestled in his arms like this, but he wasn't sure if he minded. 

"This...I don't mean the apartment...but... _ this _ ...I think…" He faltered for a moment, a fresh blush rising to his cheeks as he pressed his forehead into Drake's shoulder for emphasis. "...I think I'd like this to be my home." 

The words hung there in the air, almost with their own physicality. Was it real? Launchpad really wanted to stay? Drake was comforted that LP felt safe and warm enough to open up, to want to stay here, in his space. Not even just in his apartment – sure, this apartment was his home, the place where he lived, but it was more than that...like being right here, right now, in Launchpad’s arms, this was supposed to be what  _ home  _ felt like.

_ Wow, Drake. Corniest. Thought. Ever.  _

“Do you mean you want to stay…? Really?” He tried to not sound as wildly hopeful as he felt. “Of course you can. Actually, I’d love it if you did…” 

"I could, ya know. Stay here. With you. Fight crime and help keep St. Canard safe from evil. Especially the kind that goes around breaking people’s ribs and depriving them of hugs right when I want to...” He trailed off, glancing away in a hot new wave of embarrassment before meeting Drake’s gaze again. “I can just sleep on the couch, or the floor or in the bathtub or something. It'll be great! Just you and me against the villainy lurking in the city! But! You have to promise to do me one little favor..." He interlaced the fingers on one of their hands, giving Drake’s much smaller hand a tiny squeeze. 

Drake could swear that his cheek feathers were pink from the overwhelming blush, even though he knew that shouldn’t be biologically possible. “Of course. What do you need?”

"Well, the thing is...I really... _ really _ want to stay...but I can't just leave Duckburg forever without saying goodbye to everyone. It wouldn't be right…" 

Not to mention it might be...dangerous, if he knew his family at the Manor (and he did). They would probably assume he was kidnapped and come for revenge personally... 

"But if I go by myself there's a good chance everyone will try to talk me into staying… and I… I don't know. If-if I'm by myself, and everyone is begging me not to go, even though I really want to…" he trailed off, sighing softly. He gave Drake's hand another little squeeze. 

"I would feel a lot better if I had you there with me when I broke the news to them. For...moral support. Also… in case we need to fight our way out. Also, it will be fun! McDuck Manor is an adventure all on its own, and I wanted you to meet everyone anyway!" He paused, hoping he hadn't sold the idea too poorly and made him change his mind about letting him stay. "So, uh...what do you think…?" 

“Yeah, of course! I’d love to meet everyone!” He stopped, sitting up abruptly, suddenly surprised, some of Launchpad’s words finally sinking in. “Wait, wh-what-- what do you mean  _ fight our way out?” _

"Oh...uh...well…" Launchpad reluctantly and gently disentangled himself from Drake so he could explain better. He always did explain things better with his hands. He turned so he was facing Drake, spreading his hands in a broad gesture. 

"It's like...uh...McDuck Manor is...well, first of all the garage is not for cars. I only made that mistake once! It's also haunted, but that's fine. Most of the ghosts are friendly. Well, I don’t know if I’d call Duckworth  _ friendly _ , but he’s...mostly harmless. At least, as long as you clean up after yourself! Random mystical portals sometimes slip through Mr. McDee's defenses but...honestly that's not really what I'm worried about." He took a deep breath, held it for a second, then sighed. "My friends...my family...they're what you might call...protective. They might perceive you as...a threat. Especially the kids. Mostly the kids. They're uh...extremely efficient at eliminating threats." Well, Webby was, anyway. They would have to handle it delicately.

"A threat? Well, I wouldn't worry about it too much, I’m not really a threat..."

Launchpad laughed uneasily. "Yeah, well, you know what the Junior Woodchuck Guidebook says..." He took his hand in one of his own and rested his other on his knee. "The best way to always be prepared is to be prepared for anything, right? I just…” He took a deep breath and placed a hand gingerly on Drake’s shoulder, smiling warmly at him. “Nothing else bad is going to happen to you if I can help it, or my name isn't Launchpad McQuack!"

Drake grinned back at him, the idea of getting away with Launchpad for a bit already sounding incredibly appealing. "Sounds like a plan, then! I'm sure they're great, anyway." Anyone who was close to LP was probably tons of fun! Drake recalled meeting Dewey, the talkative duckling in blue and his strange, overexcited perspectives on moviemaking. He was sure the rest of his family was just as interesting! It was almost guaranteed to be a fantastic time. 

"They're better than great! You're gonna love them! If things go smoothly. Which I'm sure they will!" He added quickly, with an awkward laugh. "Everyone there, they just...they don't want to see anything happen to me, either. I'm a little worried about how they'll handle the news. But even so...I've made up my mind." He glanced up and met Drake's eyes. "I definitely want to be here, with you."

Drake threw his arms around him in a gentle hug. "Is it super selfish to say nothing would make me happier?"

"Wha—?" He was surprised by the hug and almost protested, not because he didn't want it (far from it!), but because he was so used to resisting the urge for the sake of Drake's injuries that he hadn't considered the fact that there was no problem at all with Drake squeezing him as hard as he liked. He laughed gently, carefully wrapping his arms around him in a loose embrace. 

"Only if it's selfish of me to want to stay... and to want to see you happy."

"Well... maybe it is. But I'm okay with that." He leaned his head against Launchpad's shoulder, savoring the hug, as delicate as it was.

Launchpad tucked his head against Drake's neck, nuzzling against it comfortably. He blushed, noticing for the first time how nice Drake smelled. A complex blend of his grape-scented soap, his favorite face wash, some sort of strong cologne, and sparkle mint toothpaste. There was another very subtle, smoky scent on his feathers too, and he recognized it as a remnant of the smoke bombs they used on missions. He found the entire effect to be very appealing, especially on Drake Mallard, the coolest duck he knew. He wanted to tell him about it, but it seemed like an awkward thing to mention, so he just kept his face buried as close to the feathers of his neck as he could reasonably get away with.

For Drake, being this close to Launchpad was… different. In a good way. The warmth of his feathers, the weight of his arms, the faint scent of motor oil and campfire, and a mix of adobo spices (probably from burritos and tacos). He was very okay with  _ this  _ being home.

It was perfect.

Resting there, holding Drake felt so warm, and right, and soft, and comfortable...  _ too _ comfortable. Launchpad had exhausted himself, between beating the high score and the emotional release afterwards, and now he was helpless to fight against the wave of sleep that washed over him. Soon he was snoring softly, wrapped carefully around his partner on the couch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you so, so much for reading! We take great joy in mixing some DuckTales-style chaos into our story, and there will be much more of that soon enough. See you next episode!


	7. Let's Get Houseguests

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No notable content warnings this chapter. Enjoy some chaos and fluff!

Drake Mallard awoke to the late morning light filtering through the lavender curtains in his living room. He hadn't meant to crash out on the couch like that, but with the fatigue from his injuries and the fact that he’d done quite a bit of physical activity the day before for someone who’d just spent the last week or so stuck in bed, he couldn't be all that surprised. Not to mention Launchpad was just...soft. And warm. And really cozy to curl up and lay against. He rubbed his eyes and fumbled around for his phone, trying to pretend he was thinking about literally anything else besides how very _nice_ the pilot’s body heat felt through the back of his shirt. 

_10:28 AM?_ When did he even fall asleep? He couldn’t quite recall. 

He didn't want to get up, partially because he didn't want to disturb Launchpad’s slumber, and mostly because _oh,_ it was _so_ comfortable. However, his feathers were itching for a good preening; they were usually meticulously groomed, but he could feel them sticking out at awkward angles beneath his clothes and it was really starting to bug him. The vague, creeping ache in his ribcage served as a nagging reminder of the late hour. He was careful to gently replace Launchpad's arm as he disentangled from both his companion and the blanket, pausing for a moment to study the peaceful expression on his face. Launchpad slept as if he were utterly at ease. Drake almost envied him that peace. He wanted to capture that gentle calm for him and hold it there; it was a good look for him. 

There was a muffled metallic crashing noise, distant disdainful grumbling, and an impatient knock at the door, immediately followed by a softer, much more polite one. These roused Launchpad with a sudden jerk, and he sat up too quickly, disoriented, and dumped himself unceremoniously onto the floor in a heap with a crash and a startled yelp. "AH! They've come for me!" 

Drake stumbled to the door, rubbing the bridge of his bill. Peering through the peephole, he could see three figures, slightly distorted by the fisheye lens. They didn’t _look_ like they wanted to sell him anything or give him a pamphlet about the _‘Good News’_... He hesitantly unlocked the chain and swung it open, still shaking off his grogginess. "Hello...?" 

Awaiting him on the other side of the door were three vaguely unfamiliar birds: an enthusiastic child with grey feathers holding a fairly large box, a disheveled, sandy-colored brown duck with a comically oversized duffel bag, and a tall, somewhat scrawny chicken who seemed to very impatiently be typing something into a device on his wrist. 

The tawny duck spoke first, his voice somehow both energetic and apprehensive at once. "Salutations! Is this the home of one Drake Mallard?" 

Drake just blinked at them blearily for a second. "Yes, that's me… what’s...er, who are you?" 

"Greetings and um, hello! I'm Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera, Laboratory Assistant! We spoke on the phone? This was the address you gave me in our text conversation. This is my mentor and renowned scientist, Dr. Gearloose, and this is BOYD, a _definitely_ real boy who has accompanied us to er... assist." 

There was a long pause while Drake stared at them, trying to get his brain to work, and during that moment a… _sentient lightbulb_?! Yes, a sentient lightbulb with thin, metallic arms and legs... he recognized it vaguely as the little robot from the Moonlander invasion. Bulby, or something? The little automaton scampered out of Fenton’s bag and leapt onto Dr. Gearloose’s shoulder, crossing its tiny arms, the filament and bulb that made up its head turning bright red in an indignant sulk. 

Dr. Gearloose sighed and rolled his eyes. “Oh, don’t be so _dramatic_ . He didn’t forget to introduce you, he was just saving what is _clearly_ a superior artificial intelligence for last…” He gestured to the tiny robot, then to Drake. “Lil’ Bulb, Drake Mallard. Drake Mallard, this is my rather impatient, _very_ important friend, Lil’ Bulb. There, see? Happy now?” 

The little lightbulb settled back into a calm yellow glow and relaxed against his shoulder. Dr. Gearloose regarded Drake cooly, crossing his arms. “Well? Now that we’ve _all_ been formally introduced, may we come in, or are you going to leave us standing in this dingy hallway all week?”

Drake glanced between the three of them for a second. "Oh! OH! Right! Yes! Come on in.”

Launchpad, who was still sitting on the floor, scrambled to climb back up onto the cushions to straighten things a bit. "Fenton, old buddy! Dr. Gearloose! I didn't realize you'd be coming so soon!" He peered at the small, grey bird behind them _._ "Hey there! One of our top first-year Junior Woodchuck Scouts! I didn't expect to see you here! Did you come to help out Dr. Gearloose?"

BOYD was chipper as ever as he entered and placed the box on the center of the living room floor. "Good morning Scoutmaster Launchpad! You are correct! Like any Junior Woodchuck, I'm here to help! I am here to ensure that no robots or electronic devices turn evil and destroy the city!" 

"That seems awfully specific..." Drake noted with a squint, as he washed out the leftover residue from last time he was making smoke bombs from the coffee pot in the kitchen sink. 

BOYD simply smiled at him, then looked around the room. He seemed to....refocus his eyes? Drake couldn't quite make it out, but somehow he had a feeling this kid had just come to some kind of conclusion within the last fifteen seconds. About _what_ , he had no idea. Whatever it was, somehow BOYD seemed satisfied with it. The small grey bird blinked once at Drake, then tilted his head slightly and gave him a tiny nod.

"I hope you didn't mind us just showing up… Should we have met you at your lab instead?" Fenton asked apologetically.

Drake was distracted from the enigma of BOYD’s gaze by the question. "Hm? My lab? Oh. When I said field testing I literally meant practical use..." Drake admitted, pouring coffee grounds into his now-clean coffee maker, which he _definitely_ had not been regularly using to create chemical solutions.

This utter lack of a controlled work environment may have horrified Gearloose, but Fenton was excited by it, offering Drake a friendly smile. "Ha, that’s great! Nothing like some real punk science, huh? Finding the _danger_ in the decimals… Oh, and I have some invigorating news as well; Gizmoduck said he would be glad to help patrol the city for evildoers! Hopefully that means you can rest easy tonight!"

Drake's expression dropped back to one of exhaustion, and he poured the scalding coffee directly from the glass carafe into one of his mugs, drinking some of it straight, black, and burning hot. The scorching bitterness did little to burn away his _own_ bitterness and acidic disdain. He swallowed it. "Oh. Yeah. That's… yeah, that’s great. Thank you for asking him for me. I'm sure people must bother you all the time for that kind of help if you know a superhero." 

Fenton looked genuinely surprised. No one ever explicitly thanked him, personally, for that sort of thing. It was usually all about _Gizmoduck._ "It's no big deal. Just trying to help. And I owe _you_ a thank you for letting us stay here!”

“ _Please_ , it’s the least I could do with you coming all this way, I mean when you told me where Mr. McDuck booked your hotel room, I absolutely could _not_ let you stay in that part of town! Feel free to make yourselves at home! It’s no luxury resort, but it’s uh…” He glanced around and gestured vaguely about the apartment. “Well...it is what it is.” 

BOYD patted the box he brought, turning his attention to Launchpad. “This is from everyone back at McDuck Manor! It’s your care package, Scoutmaster Launchpad! Originally the plan was for Huey to send Junior Woodchuck supplies, but everyone wanted to contribute something once word got out.” 

Fenton chimed in. “Felicitations, Launchpad! Everyone sends their best wishes along with that box! Oh, and Drake! I managed to construct a prototype to replicate that device you sent the photos of!” He rummaged around in his bag, (which seemed ludicrous in size; it definitely had a lot more than just a few lab supplies in it!) until he pulled out a box roughly the size of a shoebox, placing it on the counter in front of Drake. 

Drake realized almost instantly what must be inside the precious container, and his eyes lit up as they danced over it. His fingertips were already twitching with nerdy anticipation. “May I…?” 

“Yes, undoubtedly, it’s for you! I hope you don’t mind, I did some troubleshooting, made some adjustments and improvements for functionality and efficiency. It’s just a prototype, so we can keep making improvements if you’re up for testing it!” Fenton appeared to be equally excited about it. Having someone who was genuinely interested in his personal work was refreshing.

Drake touched the box with an air of reverence, opening it, delicately lifting out the contents. He handled it with the care typically reserved for a sacred object. Fenton’s updated take on the gas gun was sleek, smooth, and noticeably lighter than the prop version, with a rounded handle that fit perfectly in his hand. It was white and black with red trim, and he was glowing with joy as he turned it over in his hands.

“Of course I’ll test it! It’s awesome! This is _so_ cool! Quick question, well, two questions; first, are you sure I can have it? I can pay you…! And second, will it affect the functionality at all if I paint this?” 

“Oh, bl–I mean!–balderdash! Your valuable feedback and such detailed, thorough notes is more than enough to be considered payment! As for painting, well no, it shouldn’t...?” 

The gears were already turning in Drake’s head with plans. “Oh, _hell_ yes. Thank you! Thank you _so much_!”

Dr. Gearloose was fuming, but he simply settled into a haughty sulk as he poured himself a cup of coffee, peering distrustfully at the contents of the mug. “Giving away MY tech? Even if it _is_ from the trash... whatever. It’s coming out of _your_ grant, Assistant. _As you well know._ ” He grumbled. Fenton did, in fact, well know. Dr. Gearloose reminded him of this fact repeatedly during the trip to St. Canard that morning. 

Sitting across from BOYD, Launchpad placed a hand on the massive cardboard box. "They sent me a care package…? Aw, those guys...they didn't have to! Thanks for bringing this all the way up here, BOYD! You're a real pal!"

“Oh! I did not carry or fly it up all the stairs.” BOYD reassured him. “Dr. Gearloose hacked the fob system and the elevator!” He said all of this as if it were quite normal and to be expected. 

“The elevator? It’s been broken for years,” Drake explained, not looking up from the new gas- no, _prototype upgrade_ of the gas gun. Oh, now _that_ sounded _extra_ cool!

“Dr. Gearloose fixed it! Though there _is_ still the possibility that it will turn evil. I will be extra vigilant and make sure that it does not!” BOYD explained in an apparent attempt to set him at ease. But somehow this had the opposite of the intended effect; it unsettled Drake more than the initial comment _._

Dr. Gearloose and Lil’ Bulb simultaneously looked up sharply at the comment about it turning evil, and Dr. Gearloose looked like he might open his beak to vehemently protest this point. He was cut off before he could by Drake, who sensed the tension rising in the room and cleared his throat, trying to lighten the mood.

“Anyway!” Drake interjected, attempting to quickly change the subject. He smiled at BOYD, gesturing vaguely around the kitchen. “Do you want some coffee? Or snacks? Uh, I’m not exactly used to having guests....” 

Dr. Gearloose, who was already giving Drake a suspicious side-eye, looked absolutely flabbergasted at this. Wasn’t this guy supposed to be some kind of actor or performing clown or something? Wasn’t _entertaining_ supposed to be his specialty? His hosting skills certainly weren’t impressive. Not that _that_ was saying much; Dr. Gearloose was very rarely impressed. 

"What?! You can't give _him_ coffee!" He said this in an irritated, testy tone of voice, as though it should be the most obvious thing in the world and he absolutely could _not_ believe he had to say the words out loud. He glared at Drake, equal parts exasperated and irate. Still perched on his shoulder, Lil’ Bulb nodded along with him, looking almost insulted, as though this were some kind of personal slight.

“Huh? I was ju—oh! OH! Sorry! Yes, yes, I shouldn’t be giving coffee to a kid. We might have some chocolate milk or something, I think LP went to the grocery store yesterday…” He apologized, reaching for the cabinet. 

Dr. Gearloose let out a long sigh and rubbed his temples. "Don’t be ridiculous! Not because he's a kid! Kids can drink coffee, coffee shrinking the brain in adolescents is a myth! BOYD doesn't need any coffee because he's a robot. A very _not_ evil robot! He's incredibly advanced technology, a delicate instrument, you can't just go dumping volatile organic compounds into…" 

"Huh? Shrinking brains...? I just thought you're not supposed to give kids coffee because of the caffeine, makes them hyperacti—wait what?" Drake just stammered, even more bewildered than before.

"That is correct! Though I _am_ a definitely real boy, I'm also made of metal, and thus do not need to eat or drink! Though I do appreciate the offer!" BOYD answered with a smile. 

Drake wasn’t entirely sure how to be hospitable to super scientists and robots. When he sent the text inviting them to stay, he hadn’t really thought through the logistics. Not that he knew how to house three guests (and a sentient lightbulb) in a one-bedroom apartment in the first place. Four guests, technically, with Launchpad, but he didn’t exactly count Launchpad as a _guest_ anymore. Drake really felt out of his depth here. He was only one tired, sore, somewhat overwhelmed duck, after all. 

"So Mr. Mallard! Where is your laboratory? Your workspace? Your...beakers, test tubes, bunsen burners?" Fenton asked excitedly, unperturbed by any of this _._

The question snapped Drake out of his thoughts. "Oh, Drake is fine. Actually, please just call me Drake. I don’t really know how to be formal. What I was trying to say earlier is that I don't have...a lab?" He fluffed the feathers on the back of his head awkwardly with his fingers.

"Well, where do you make the compounds for testing?" 

"In the kitchen. Here, I'll show you my supplies—" He opened one of the cabinets, pulling out a makeshift arrangement of pyrex vials carefully hanging off of a cake cooling rack mounted over a cookie sheet. There were several jars labeled with letters, a small stack of index cards, and a set of sticky notes with reminders and formulas on them. It all very much looked like a scene from the TV show _Breaking Bills_. 

Dr. Gearloose swept his gaze over the so-called 'lab equipment' with vague horror, glanced back around the apartment he could only consider unkempt and shabby, and finally settled on Fenton. His poor, misguided Assistant… clearly he was involved in some sort of mess! 

He cleared his throat loudly, sticking his elbow into Fenton's arm _._ "Inter — Assistant! Isn't it time to contact _Gizmoduck_ soon? Why don't we step into the hallway so we can have some privacy?"

He glared, narrowing his eyes at Drake Mallard, whom he absolutely did not trust one bit. 

As Fenton and Gearloose stepped out the door to have what Drake imagined was their very urgent and important talk with Gizmoduck, Drake turned to Launchpad, as BOYD sat down on the couch, watching him innocently.

“I’m going to go...roll some water off my back, okay? If you need anything BOYD, I know Launchpad will help you.” Drake then excused himself and slipped into the bathroom. 

As soon as the bathroom door shut, BOYD turned his attention back to Launchpad, who sat on the floor beside the large box, and asked him a question point blank: “Scout Master Launchpad, is Mr. Drake Darkwing Duck?”

Launchpad froze, then turned slowly to look at BOYD, who was watching him expectantly with a good-natured, wide-eyed expression. Leave it to one of his best Junior Woodchucks to be incredibly perceptive.

"Uh, w-what makes you ask a thing like that?" It was against his code of honor as both a hero _and_ as a Senior Woodchuck Scoutmaster to openly lie, but he couldn't just blow Drake's secret identity either! 

BOYD simply sat, smiling at Launchpad innocently before listing off his reasons in a very matter-of-fact tone: 

“Well… there was residue from the chemical compounds used to make smoke bombs on the coffee pot he was washing earlier, he is the exact same height and build as the aforementioned hero, the shopping list on the refrigerator is a stereotypical list of utility items commonly used in scaling buildings and escaping from locked locations, the excessive amount of superhero paraphernalia and his affinity for the color purple. Oh, perhaps the most obvious clue of them all, your phone lock screen has a photo of you where he is next to you dressed as Darkwing Duck. Also, he invited Gizmoduck to protect the city while ‘a superhero’ was out, and he is currently recovering from an injury that will take approximately another ten days beyond his current state to heal. So easily, the logical conclusion is that Drake Mallard is Darkwing Duck.” 

~☆~

Dr. Gearloose quickly hustled Fenton out into the hall and pulled the door shut. He gave it one more suspicious glance before crossing his arms, sighing deeply as he shot Fenton a pitying look. Each of these motions was mimicked with uncanny accuracy by Lil’ Bulb, giving Fenton the unsettling sense that he was about to be scolded in stereo. 

"Look… we need to talk. I know that being my… _Assistant_ isn't easy…" He put the word ‘Assistant’ in massive sarcasm quotes with his fingers. "...and I can come off as judgemental, and demanding, and perhaps even be a _bit_ aggressive with the micromanaging at times, but it's only because I want to see you succeed, and…" He took Fenton by the shoulders and looked directly into his eyes, a serious expression on his face. "Assistant, if you're having trouble with money, we can talk to Mr. McDuck, get another grant! You don't have to sell illegal tech to these guys or… or _whatever_ it is that's going on in there! There are other ways, you can come to me when you're in trouble!" 

He was irritated that Fenton wouldn't come to him first, and there was something else, another layer, as if that irritation hid a deeper hurt. Dr. Gyro Gearloose wasn’t exactly forthcoming with his feelings, and he wasn’t about to say some sappy nonsense like ‘I care about you and I’m worried about what kind of situation you may have gotten yourself into,’ absolutely not. A judgemental glare would have to do.

Fenton wrung his hands anxiously on his duffel bag. He was hesitant to speak, taking in the critical, almost-concerned way that Dr. Gearloose was staring at him. He knew Gyro Gearloose was far too busy to follow every thought, every idea to its logical end, but he couldn’t help but wonder just what sort of conclusions his brilliant, high-strung mentor had jumped to this time. He tilted his head as if looking at Dr. Gearloose sideways would somehow help him understand, give him some new angle on the situation. His tone softened into that of one trying to gently explain away the mistake of a clumsy new intern. 

“Actually… I was anticipating that I could have Drake help me with _my_ research. I’ve been trying to make some upgrades to the Gizmosuit of my own design as well, and the data he’s given me so far has been incredibly accurate! I think… it’s not exactly the most sophisticated setup, but I’m not expeditious to judge! Before you hired me I wasn’t in that different of a situation, and I do think he _is_ actually field testing my compounds. I’m not paying them anything, something in my lower intestine, er… my _gut_ just tells me I can trust this guy!”

Dr. Gearloose searched Fenton's face for a long moment, like he was scrutinizing something beyond just his judgement, then sighed, releasing his shoulders and adjusting his glasses with one hand. "I see...well then...if that's the case, then I guess I'll have no choice in the matter… Despite my clearly superior judgment, I'll have to trust your… _ugh_...gut instinct. For now! But this is all coming out of your grant! And don't you come crying to me if he turns out to be a supervillain!” He crossed his arms, looking a bit put out but begrudgingly relieved. At least Fenton wasn’t mixed up in some tech-smuggling crime ring. At least, as far as he knew, he wasn’t.

“Well… if things go sour… how about this…” Fenton inhaled slowly, then let it out in a long, measured breath. “Okay. If he’s a supervillain, it’ll be Gizmoduck’s problem. I’ll take responsibility, and I’ll pay for any damages or stolen tech out of my portion of our budget. Is that fair?” 

Dr. Gearloose hated that answer, but he nodded anyway. "Fine, fine. That's fair enough. We better get back in there before they get suspicious." 

~☆~

Back on the living room floor, Launchpad was between a box and a hard place. He looked at BOYD, opened his mouth, then closed it again, then put a hand to his forehead and stared into the middle distance for several seconds before opening it again. 

"Yes, those… uh… those are all very good reasons to ask that question, aren't they?" He looked down at the box, trying to ward off the panic that was creeping up over him. 

"Oh! Look at this! It’s so cool! No way!" 

_Smooth. Good Distraction, LP!_ He thought.

He picked up the top two items in the box; a large, framed photograph of Dewey and a Darkwing Duck fanzine. Launchpad held them up with a desperate smile and looked down into the box, grasping for an excuse to change the subject. “Oh, uh...why so many snacks? Tell me about the snacks BOYD! I need to know about the snacks, right now!!”

_Smooth. So Smooth._

BOYD blinked at him and tilted his head. 

“If you wanted to change the subject, Scoutmaster Launchpad, you could have just asked. But yes, Dewey packed quite a few snacks for you, he said he knows just what you like! Also, that fan-made art collection is from Mrs. Beakley.” BOYD explained.

Beneath the plethora of snacks was a whole case of Pep, also from Dewey, and a backpack-like item he vaguely recognized as a parachute. He couldn’t recall having ever used one. They were a mystery to him. His father, Captain Ripcord McQuack, was reportedly named after one, but he had always been too intimidated to ask for details... Inspecting the parachute closer, it had a rushed, but legible enough note attached. It read:

_Launchpad,_

_If you die on vacation Dewey will be super bummed out and I have NO idea how to help with something like that, so please wear this AT ALL TIMES._

_Seriously, don't take any chances._

_Have a nice vacation!_

_Love, Della_

_P.S.- I owe you one for taking the time off so I can spend more time with the kids, but please stay far away from my plane thanks ♡_

He tilted his head at the note, confused, then set the whole thing aside, reaching back into the box _._

It was then that Dr. Gyro Gearloose re-entered the apartment, clearing his throat to announce his presence. “We’re back, nothing suspicious about that.” His tone was absolutely suspicious, but nobody was paying attention to him, and Lil’ Bulb patted his shoulder to console him in a gesture that seemed to say ‘don’t worry, _I’m_ listening.’

By the time Drake emerged from the bathroom post-shower, everyone had returned. The finer points of hosting escaped him despite his repeated _thoroughly rehearsed_ solo late-night TV show guest spot practice sessions, and feeling a bit unsure, he glanced around the apartment awkwardly. Luckily, Fenton practically pulled him back over to the kitchen. 

"So Drake! Maybe you could extrapolate on your process for me!” Fenton began, and together they busied themselves with discussing the composition of various compounds as Drake opened the cabinet, revealing his cheat sheet, as well as a large sign scrawled beneath it in bright blue sharpie that read: _TESTING SUPPLIES! DO NOT EAT!_

Fenton tilted his head at the sign and gave Drake a questioning look. Drake met his gaze, glancing up from the pyrex tube he was holding, and pointed at the sign, smiling sheepishly. “Oh, that? That’s uh, you know, basic lab safety, heh. I put food coloring in the chemicals for easy color-coded mixing. Also, LP loves his seasonings and he, er, doesn’t always look closely at the labels before he grabs the bottles, so...better safe than sorry, right? The bright colors help prevent mix ups...”

Leaning over the side of the couch, Launchpad called from the living room. "The blue one does _not_ taste like blue raspberry! It tastes like sadness! Do not recommend!"

Drake offered Fenton a helpless smile. “...usually.” But Fenton found the entire colorization concept quite fascinating and pressed Drake for details on colorant composition and the alphabetization of pigments and asked all manner of other questions that Drake was maybe, barely, sometimes prepared to answer.

Meanwhile, Launchpad turned his attention back to the box, his eyes widening as he drew out the next item.

 _Could it be...?_ It was! 

"Is that a _real_ grappling hook?!" Drake lit up when he saw it, internally he was pumping a fist in the air in excitement, but... he had to be cool. They had guests. Two super scientists, a sassy lightbulb and a super-intelligent robot boy. But _still_. There were appearances to be maintained. 

It was indeed a grappling hook, a present Webbigail Vanderquack deemed essential to any adventurer worth their weight in gold, which was a metric that was taken _very_ seriously within the walls of McDuck Manor. 

"Right! Awesome! That'll come in handy! For um.... I mean, it could be handy if the elevator breaks again. You know. Totally normal, non-suspicious stuff." 

_Nailed it._

He reached back into the box and pulled out a present that could only be from Donald Duck; a brightly colored fanny pack that had the words "Coolest Dad" crossed out and replaced with “Dude". It contained various ‘vacation’ items, including basic first aid supplies, chapstick, sunglasses, a tiny pencil, a tiny bottle of sunscreen, and a miniature traveller's dictionary. 

The Junior Woodchuck Survival kit Violet and Huey sent was nothing short of impressive. It was filled with enough supplies (food rations, emergency heat blankets, high powered glow sticks, high tensile strength paracord, metal whistle, signal mirror, water filter, hand warmers, fire starter, waterproof matches, bear mace...the list was exhaustive...) to last two people three full days.

With the box nearly empty now, he noticed something on the very bottom. He fished out a business card from Louie Inc. Printed on it in stark black and green lettering were the words:

_This care package brought to you by Louie Incorporated, Copyright 2020._

Taped to the back of the card was a $20 bill, folded neatly in half. Underneath it was a message handwritten in Louie’s lazy scrawl telling him to buy himself something nice. He smiled at the card and let out a little chuckle. It _was_ pretty on brand for Louie.

Fenton was about to say something else when his phone vibrated, and he scrambled for it. "Ah! Doctor Gearloose! We’d uh, better go! We need to finish installing those, er, sensors you were talking about! Um. Drake, I would love to chat and swap more progress A.S.A.P.!"

Dr. Gearloose gave him a strange look. “Sensors? What are you…” After a beat, he glanced at Drake, then cleared his throat, adjusting his glasses. “Ah. Right. _Those_ sensors. Very astute of you to remember, Assistant. Wouldn’t want to go around not _sensing_ things…” He gave Drake a disdainful once-over, then hustled BOYD and Fenton toward the door in a hurry. Best not to linger around this mysterious mallard’s so-called _laboratory_ for any longer than absolutely necessary.

Launchpad looked at the huge, assorted pile of gifts fondly, then picked up the picture of Dewey and laughed with a gentle ease, holding it up to show Drake. "Aw, this cool lil’ guy, he’s my best friend! He put this right on top because he knew I'd smile if it was the first thing I saw. You know, I was kinda worried about them, especially Dewey, about how they’d get along without me, but…those kids? They're all tough as nails. They'll be alright..." He set the picture frame down and sighed, flashed Drake a grin, then reached over and picked up the grappling hook. He hefted it in his grip for a moment before handing it to him, beaming with excitement. "And hey, it's like Webby read our minds, right?! Or our shopping list..." But then, of course Webby knew a grappling hook was useful in any situation! She knew more about adventure lore than probably anyone ever.

Inside the darkened theater of his mind Launchpad pictured Drake Mallard, fully costumed as the daring duck of mystery, scaling the side of some massive building in the dead of night with the aid of the trusty grappling hook, cape flapping in the wind, striking a dramatic silhouette in the moonlight. The image filled him with a giddy excitement that he wasn't able to identify, but it was somewhere between the usual fanboyish enthusiasm he always felt at Darkwing Duck events and a newer, more personal excitement, the same one that had quickened his heart when he held Drake in the dark. 

"You're gonna look...really cool, DW." The slightest hint of pink dusted his cheek feathers and he picked up the fanzine that Mrs. Beakley sent, flipping through it so that he had something to do with his hands. He wasn’t really paying attention to the contents; he just wanted to look like he wasn’t thinking about something...else.

Drake bit down on his lower bill and avoided his gaze. Why did such a simple compliment make him so flustered? "Thanks… er, Darkwing Duck had all kinds of gimmicks, it's only natural!"

"Hey, uh...last night..." He put the fanzine down slowly (and reluctantly; it had ended up catching his attention after all; it had some excellent fan work inside!) and looked at Drake, his face full of conflicting emotions. 

"I hope I didn't make you...uncomfortable... on the couch, I didn't mean to fall asleep and...uh..." He blushed deeper, simply because spending the night with Drake nestled in his arms was a quiet escape, a chance to slip away for once into a zen dreamland filled with bold outlines and comic screentones, protected by his very own Canardian Guardian…

But there was no way he could just say that out loud.

Drake was thinking about the same thing. His mind floated back to how he fell asleep so peacefully, so easily, even with his injuries… 

...how he held onto Launchpad like it was the most natural thing in the world, a warm haven in the cold abyss of the night, how it felt like nothing vile in the city could touch him as long as he was in those big soft arms and he hadn't ever wanted to get up... 

He cleared his throat. "Uncomfortable? Of course not! You were very soft— I mean, I slept great! I mean—no, not at all... um... so..." He laughed uneasily, trying to fill the silence. "Do you, um! How about some lunch? I actually _can_ cook things besides junk food, you know..."

This wasn't at all what Launchpad was expecting. He wanted to hear more, ask him to elaborate; what did he mean by ‘very soft’, how did he manage to keep the horrors at bay just by being close and, perhaps most pressing of all, was...was it something he would be interested in doing again…? 

But his mouth refused to obey his malfunctioning brain. He just stared at him for a pregnant moment while the silence stretched just a hair too long between them, then slowly nodded his head, trying to coax the words free. "I'm-I'm glad you slept well… and I.. uh...soft? I mean uh...yes! Yeah… er… food sounds...nice."

Drake made them both lunch and tried to relax as best he could. After all, he still had injuries that were healing, even if the wounds were mostly internal now, scrapes scabbed over and feathers well on their way to growing back in. He only mildly protested when Launchpad insisted on doing the dishes. He leaned against the counter and crossed his arms, taking a reluctant break after Launchpad threatened to do them for the rest of the week if he didn’t. 

"Fine, fine. I’m resting, see? Sheesh. Oh, speaking of resting... I hadn't thought about where our guests will sleep when they get back. I might have a sleeping bag stashed amongst the blankets here... but still, I don't know if that's… hospitable enough?"

Launchpad considered this as he scrubbed and rinsed. "Well...Dr. Gearloose usually sleeps on a couch in his office. Or, at least that's what he complains to Mr. McDee about whenever a deadline is coming up. BOYD doesn't need to sleep, I think? Fenton, uh… he can sleep pretty much anywhere… and I can always sleep in the limo if there's not enough room! It wouldn't be the first time..."

Launchpad’s voice trailed off, remembering the warm, fuzzy feeling of Drake cuddled up against him, and he focused a little harder on scrubbing the dish. "The most important thing is that you sleep in your bed, get some rest so you can get healed up."

"No way, you’re not sleeping in a car while staying here!" 

_Absolutely not! Besides, it totally wouldn't be weird if he stayed_... 

"You can stay in my room..."

The dish nearly slipped out of Launchpad’s hand, but he caught it at the last minute, inches above the floor. "Wha-are you sure? I don't want to...to..." 

_Make you uncomfortable..._

_But then again, hadn't he said he slept well...?_

"If you're sure there's uh...enough room, and you don't mind..." Launchpad mumbled. He wanted to say yes, say it a thousand times, climb out the fire escape and shout it from the rooftop, but it was time to keep it cool. Stay casual. _Be chill, Launchpad McQuack!_

Drake tried to wave it off as though it was nothing, not a big deal, totally normal, nothing to get excited about...but he was secretly thrilled that Launchpad accepted the invitation. "We'll make it work." He didn’t see the need to add that he would have made it work if it was the last thing he accomplished on this Earth, broken ribs and all.

Dr. Gearloose returned in the early evening with BOYD, and fell asleep on the couch after tinkering with some gadgets he brought along until he was bleary-eyed. There was no sign of Fenton, but Gearloose reassured them that he would be fine. 

Shortly after, Drake stood in the bathroom changing his bandages, and he couldn't get his thoughts of their night at the museum off of his mind. They'd faced other villains, but they always had some twisted motive, something to gain. 

But that look, on Jim's face... in a place filled with monuments to his life; it was haunting. It was pure hatred wrapped in a desperate craving for revenge. A disgust and loathing pulled taut; the membrane of a drum beating out a steady call to destroy the object of his hatred. It was an Ode to Joy, the joy of one that could only derive pleasure from inflicting pain. It was a refrain wholly alien to Drake Mallard.

He shook his head, focusing on his evening routine, and even grabbed a few blankets from the closet to leave out for Fenton. He could see BOYD sitting in the corner, plugged into the wall, but asking if he needed anything was simply greeted with a reminder that he did not need sleep.

When it came time for bed, Launchpad was nervous all over again. He already brushed his teeth, changed into sweat pants and a comfortable oversized tee shirt and completed his usual night time routine. Now he was standing awkwardly in front of Drake's bed, looking at it as though it might bite him. He jumped slightly when Drake walked in. 

"A-Are you sure you don't want me to sleep in the car...?"

"Absolutely. I can't throw a guest, or my partner, out like that! Having guests isn't great for the...secret identity thing, but it'll be fine. Didn't you ever have a friend share your bed or anything when you had sleepovers as a kid?" 

Drake tried to make it all sound natural. He’d never been to a sleepover himself, but that was what he assumed they were like. That and not doing a lot of sleeping at all. Regardless, he scooted over against the wall, leaving most of the space for Launchpad to climb in beside him. 

_Don't think about it, it'll be fine if you don't think about it.._.

"Not really I uh..." Launchpad was a bit embarrassed to admit he hadn't had many friends. 

Or sleepovers. 

Or surprise parties... or Halloweens... 

“I never really had one, as a kid...." 

Even so, he climbed into bed carefully, leaving a couple inches of space between them to make sure Drake had enough room. He glanced at him nervously, though why he was quite so nervous he couldn't say. "Thanks, though. For letting me y'know...crash. In your bed. With you."

Drake was trying not to think too much about it. Too many complicated feelings he didn't know how to address. "It's no problem. Just trying to be... it's-it's nothing. Don't mention it." 

The space between them bothered Drake somehow, and he tried to muster up the courage to take Launchpad’s hand. He wanted to offer some sort of comfort... something, to bridge that space between them and face the demons of Launchpad’s past. Their hands lay side by side, and as badly as he wanted to take it, he simply allowed their pinkies to brush against each other at first.

The way their fingers just lightly touched for a moment made Launchpad's heart jump and his stomach flutter. He wanted to say something, to do something, to fill the enormous empty space between them (it was hardly two or three inches, but it felt almost insurmountable).

Instead he pulled the blanket up, snuggling into it, and buried his face in the pillow, trying to pretend there wasn't a warmth rising in it. "G'night DW." 

As he closed his eyes he recalled Drake, pressed against him on the couch, and the softness of his feathers...but thinking about Drake led him to think about their date at the arcade (had it been a _date?_ ), and about _Dead Duck Rising II._ Those thoughts mingled with the shadows and took a darker, more mysterious shape as he was drifting off to sleep. First, the familiar form of Darkwing, which shifted and dissolved briefly into Jim, before the image of him melted away and resolved into Negaduck, whose malice-filled gaze still pierced him, even from the twisted, staticky depths of his memory.

Drake lay there for some time, just basking in the atmosphere of their shared space. When Launchpad's breaths grew short and anxious that night, he reached out to his hand, taking it gently, interlacing their fingers. It was all Drake could think of to say that he was there. That he wasn't alone. 

_I promise I’ll be near to chase away fear._

He held his hand, resting the back of Launchpad’s palm against his fluffy cheek feathers, holding on tight until he too drifted off into sleep.

In the morning, Launchpad was surprised by several things. The first was that he hadn't woken up on the floor. This was shocking because the last sticky, vague impressions of a nightmare were still clinging to his mind, and a nightmare always meant making friends with the floor in the morning. The second surprise might have explained the first: Drake was holding his hand tightly in his sleep. 

Not just holding it; he nuzzled it up against his face as if to say 'don't worry, I've got you. It’ll be okay.'

Launchpad didn't dare to move or breathe or even think. Seconds felt like hours, but in the most comforting way possible. Bits of dust floating on the morning sun danced around shelves of action figures, too small to cast shadows. Post-it notes lining the mirror were punctuated at the bottom with Drake’s disorganized makeup kit, and a well-used brush that still had a few downy barbs, stuck in the bristles from his last preening lay beside it. It all seemed timeless, frozen in these seconds, and he knew he had Drake to thank for how well rested he felt. He worked up the nerve to scoot just a tiny bit closer to him, closing his eyes again and giving his hand a little squeeze.

Drake awoke to find that he was in the same position from last night, and Launchpad had not pulled away, and he had to face the reality that he was holding Launchpad’s hand, that their fingers were locked together. 

He wanted to say something, but he dared not break the silence and spoil the moment, but it was interrupted by a polite knock at the door.

Drake got up quickly, the moment lost, though he sorely did not want to let go. 

_There totally wasn't a reason for that. Haha, nope._

BOYD was at the door, looking up at him in his usual chipper manner. 

"Good morning, Mr. Drake! It seems you have a tendency towards nocturnality, and you still need to establish a healthy sleep schedule. I took the liberty of brewing your coffee as I observed you do yesterday." 

"Huh? Oh, thank you." The coffee was indeed exactly as Drake always made it, right down to the slightly smoky aftertaste. He poured a second mug for Launchpad, topping it with a handful of sugary breakfast cereal, just how he knew LP liked it. 

The loss of Drake's hand in his own felt like a little piece of comfort being ripped away from Launchpad, and he grieved it briefly before telling himself how silly that was. After all, he had probably just been trying to get him to stop tossing and turning or something... 

It wasn't anything more, right? He looked down at his still-warm hand, put it against his cheek for a second, then rubbed his eyes and stretched, sitting up and climbing out of bed. 

"Scoutmaster Launchpad, your breathing and heart rate levels were accelerated during the night. I considered breaking in, but it soon de-escalated and your cortisol levels returned to normal. I just wanted to check that you're okay."

Launchpad blushed slightly, embarrassed. "Oh, I uh...I had a nightmare. I get them a lot...but..." His gaze flicked over to Drake briefly, then he looked down into his coffee, watching the cereal bits bob around in it. "I uh, I ended up feeling a lot better. So it's fine, I actually slept great. Thanks for, uh, checking in though."

Drake blushed, somehow now reassured that it had at least helped a little. He didn’t look at Launchpad as he spoke, as if it was an admittance of something. "I wish I could fight your nightmares one on one. You know, thwart the forces of evil!" 

Meanwhile, _sleep_ was not quite the right word for what Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera did upon stumbling inside and collapsing in an exhausted heap just after the sun rose. He was snoring softly in the bathtub, having somewhat successfully packed up the Gizmosuit in his bag. It served as a kind of lumpy, awkward pillow; uncomfortable, but hey, it was something. Fenton was just the right blend of too tired and polite to complain anyway. It wasn’t like he knew the area very well, and he was out all night chasing down crime.

Not to mention, St. Canard was _rough_! Bank robberies, muggings, scoundrels, ne'er-do-wells and villains, super and otherwise (the city had a seemingly never-ending supply...where did they all keep coming from?!). Gizmoduck really had his work cut out for him!

Launchpad laughed gently at Drake's comment, realizing how grateful he felt for the sense of safety the simple gesture gave him the previous night. He tightened his grip on his coffee mug slightly, the warmth from the cup reminding him of the warmth of Drake's hand, pressed to his cheek...it was so peaceful, so soft. So… _safe_. 

He took a long, slow sip, trying to drink in that warmth, but it wasn’t the same. 

In the living room, Dr. Gearloose was dragged from sleep by the smell of coffee as well, grumbling his way into the kitchen, cracking his back and stretching. He poured himself a cup, mumbling a greeting to Drake and Launchpad, then glancing in the bathroom before shaking his head. "Ugh...I told him those late night sessions were going to catch up with him. Oh well. Best to just leave him be. Let him sleep for a bit, I suppose. He needs it."

"I hope he's alright. I know what it's like to be that exhausted..." Drake set about toasting some waffles for everyone, his mind floating back to the previous night, to wishing he could face off against Launchpad's nightmares himself. He tried to snap himself out of it by attempting to make some casual conversation. "So... Dr. Gearloose, um... it was you who fixed the elevator? I would still be careful though, it's pretty rusty… I would still avoid using it. It’s probably got like a thousand safety violations, and the ‘safety’ certificate in there is dated the same year this building was built."

"You're more likely to break your neck going up and down those stairs than you are using that elevator..." Gearloose retorted, taking a slow sip of his coffee. He looked Drake up and down before responding in a dry tone. “But _any_ idiot knows that.” He then disregarded him completely; he had no more words to waste on the matter. Lil’ Bulb crossed its arms and gave a smug nod from the top of Dr. Gearloose’s hat.

Drake stuck to focusing on the waffles after that.

After breakfast, Launchpad excused himself to work on the 'trash route.' Beforehand, he dropped off some supplies at the hideout, including the emergency survival kit and the grappling hook. He spent a few hours working on fixing the place up, grateful for the time alone with his tools to clear his head. 

Eventually Fenton dragged himself out of the bathroom, looking exhausted and a little worn out, but still enthusiastic as ever. He was eager to set about comparing notes with Drake, though to his purple-clad companion’s bemusement he politely declined a cup of coffee in favor of a near-boiling cup of hot water, which, he claimed, would ‘stimulate his brain activity and kick-start his ideas into high gear’. Dr. Gearloose busied himself tinkering with BOYD, doing what appeared to be a series of software updates while BOYD waited patiently, flipping through the Junior Woodchuck Scout Guidebook.

The next few days flew by in their strange new rhythm.

Fenton stayed out every night, ostensibly for ‘studies on the unique seismographic properties of the city’ that their so-called ‘sensors’ supposedly picked up, collecting data he claimed nervously to be essential to the research and development of his mysterious _gizmos_. There was one exception to his lone excursions; the day a series of vending machine robots attacked, menacing St. Canardians with all the proportional terror that a sentient vending machine could muster, and BOYD _also_ vanished from the apartment for some time. The small robot boy must have proved incredibly efficient at fighting them off, however, for by morning technological peace was restored to the city. That crime was ultimately traced back to Megavolt, and Drake tried not to gloat internally too much when reports trickled back that even Gizmoduck wasn’t able to track him down. _Heh,_ _not so easy, is it, Gizmobrains, even with all your high tech crime busting garbage?_

Drake’s tenuous patience was rewarded, and his wounds healed over time, as promised by the doctor. Only the emotional scars remained, and it would be some time before those closed and faded completely. Still, though, he would be all right. Especially with Launchpad there to help. 

As days passed, Launchpad spent most of the daylight hours fixing up their hideout. It now boasted a new reinforced lock on the door, and the trapdoor at the top of the stairs now slid open easily. He brought in an old table, a purple throw rug, and a few comfy bean bag chairs, then finished the basic furnishing by assembling a couple flat-pack shelves. He only ended up with the usual amount of parts left over afterwards! The extra bits were stashed in a jar with the toolbox for safekeeping, just in case. 

He adorned the walls with treasured Darkwing Duck memorabilia; not things from Drake’s collection, though! Instead, he was slowly transferring something far more precious. Newspaper clippings and photos he’d saved, including the selfies they took and the movie poster that Drake had signed for him on the day of their first meeting. He hung these all with the utmost care and reverence on the walls, decorating the space with their very own legacy. It felt like a sacred place for just the two of them. Surveying his work with a smile, he packed up his tools and locked up, heading back to the apartment.

On the final night of their stay, Drake was feeling antsy. After all, he was _mostly_ healed up. He only had a few more days of bed rest left before he could return to so-called “vigorous activity”. The only problem was the furthest thing from a problem; Launchpad McQuack. There was no way Launchpad would stand by and let him go out crime-sleuthing, no matter how much it was driving him crazy to pace around the apartment. The big, soft, infuriatingly caring duck was in full-blown mother hen mode while he recovered, and he knew there was no way he'd be able to get the idea past him. No, Drake was stuck... _if_ he told him. 

_Oh,_ if. 

_If is good._

So, feeling only a tiny bit guilty (after all, he reasoned, he wasn’t going far, and he was feeling okay, and _if_ anything did happen he could always call... _ugh_ , nevermind, he refused to even finish _that_ thought!) he made some excuse to slip out as inconspicuously as possible, claiming a run to the convenience store, and snuck out with his Darkwing gear stashed in a messenger bag. Within an hour, he was surveying the streets in search of trouble.

Gizmoduck was on patrol, and though Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera was bordering on dangerously sleep deprived, the Gizmosuit didn't seem to mind, using his brain to scan the area for criminal activity and keeping him alert when he needed to be. It wasn't ideal, but then again, crime never slept. So crimefighters didn’t need to sleep either, he decided. He rounded the corner and the suit's systems kicked him into full wakefulness with a little jolt. He cleared his throat, addressing the shadowy figure lurking in the alleyway near the scene of a recent robbery.

"HALT. Attention, citizen! A crime was recently committed in this area! But don't worry! Gizmoduck is here! Please step into the light so that I can take your statement, as you may be a witness to this crime!"

Darkwing was about to swoop out after his suspect, ready to deliver his opening intro, when the figure he could only describe as looming and clanky approached, declaring himself loudly. 

"Oh, it's _you_ . Can you _be_ any louder?" He asked, whirling on the approaching hero. "I was waiting for enough evidence to pounce that pernicious perpetrator! I need proof of his pilfering to take him in!"

"Darkwing Duck...? What are you doing here? I thought you were out of town on other business...?" He hadn't meant anything by the comment, but his exhaustion made the tone a bit more flat than he had intended.

"Ah, so you remember me!" Drake was a little excited, (did that mean Gizmoduck actually acknowledged his work and position as the city’s protector? Awesome! Not that he cared about Gizmoduck’s opinion, like, at all!) but he was still annoyed by the interference. "Ahem, yes! I _am_ the terror that flaps in the night, after all! And I'm back! Better than ever! Your.. .assistance will no longer be necessary!"

"Oh. Oh! Well… that's good to hear! Although, this city is in pretty rough shape… when there's trouble, you can always call me..." He was trying to be friendly, after all, heroes ought to look out for each other, right? And after patrolling St. Canard for a week and some change, Gizmoduck realized that Darkwing Duck really had his work cut out for him!

 _That again! Geez_ . Darkwing knew he was still new to crime fighting, but way to rub it in! "Of course this city is rough, it's just like me! And it's _got_ a hero, thank you very much, and that's Darkwing Duck! Two D’s, lowercase W, don’t forget to capitalize correctly and keep your eye on the headlines! Though uh, thanks for filling in. Heard a pretty cool guy called for you."

"Affirmative! He's stupendous! Er..." He caught himself and dropped back into his Gizmoduck voice. "Hey, listen…” He hesitated, not wanting to set the wrong tone or step on any toes; this wasn’t his place, but he felt the need to speak his mind anyway. Even if this hero _did_ seem to care more about glossies than guarding the city. “My contact said one of your citizens was hurt pretty badly recently. I know you're new to this whole hero thing; I'm pretty new to it myself! But being a hero isn't about just one duck. It's about more than that. You're not just this city's hero, you're a symbol. You're their hope..."

That stung in a way Darkwing hadn't quite expected. Besides, he was out here without Launchpad. He hadn't wanted to worry him. He knew his big wonderful, caring partner would still be fussing and fretting over his injuries and the last thing he needed was a lecture on duty from some corporate _poser_ who got his funding from the _Richest Duck in the World_ ! What could he _possibly_ know about duty?! About really giving hope to a city that has none? What was he risking in that suit that probably cost, what, a billion dollars? _Insurance premiums?_ Gah! This guy really rubbed his feathers the wrong way. "W-w-well!! Who do you think you are anyway?! You think I don’t know that? You don't need to lecture me! This is _my_ city, hotshot! You think you can come flying in here with your fancy _gizmos_ and your slick paint job and tell me about duty like I’m some kind of...of..."

 _What is this, amateur hour?_ Jim’s mocking words echoed in his mind and he trailed off, balling his fists by his side.

"Easy, easy! I'm just saying you don't have to do it on your own! It's a big endeavor to keep a city this big under control, it doesn't have to be this way, just you, lurking around..." 

"Lurking?! I am the terror that flaps in the night! I am the spot on the rug resistant to stain remover! Lurking is in my job descr- wait, why am I wasting good material on you?" Darkwing groaned. This night was going nowhere. The perp had long since gotten away by now thanks to this noisy interloper, and he really wasn't in the mood anymore. Gizmoduck's words struck something in him. Implying he wasn't enough! That he couldn't protect—

Gizmoduck paused, shaking his head. He could tell there was going to be no getting through his enormous ego. It was too bad. Drake looked up to Darkwing Duck, had been so concerned about him. _If he only knew what an egotistical..._

Fenton sighed internally. _Ah well._ What more could he do? If the local hero wanted him to leave, then so be it. He promised Mr. McDuck he would protect Duckburg anyway. It was time for him to leave either way. He stuck his hand out. "Very well. I'll be gone by sunrise, and out of your feathers. But if some calamity should strike and you can't handle it on your own...you know how to reach me."

Drake took a deep breath and released it, trying to let some of the tension in his shoulders go with it. His ribs were starting to ache, and this night was beginning to feel like a waste of time. It was time to utilize the technique he had years and years of practice perfecting; in other words, it was time to swallow his feelings and put on an _act_. He turned to Gizmoduck and forced a smile. 

"Okay, okay. Thank you for...helping out while I was... incapacitated. I...appreciate it...there." Still, though, he couldn’t bring himself to shake Gizmoduck’s hand. He just _couldn’t_ . He did have _some_ pride left. He crossed his arms instead, staring at him as though he found it incredibly rude that he still had the _nerve_ to still be standing there.

Gizmoduck tilted his head for a moment, giving him an almost pitying look, then nodded and gave a salute before deploying his helicopter and flying off into the night to patrol elsewhere until sunrise.

 _That_ really soured Darkwing’s mood. He sat on the rooftop for a bit, watching the clouds until just before the sun began to rise. Gizmoduck got to just roll into town with all his gadgets and fanfare, and here he was feeling like... well, was he even ready to wear the cape? To protect others? He thought he had found his resolve after that whole Negaduck incident! Why was he wavering now?! He grumbled to himself, trying to shove all those annoyed feelings down as he snuck back inside, hanging up his Darkwing stuff as though he had never left. 

He was surprised to find LP asleep not on the bed, but on the floor, and he covered him carefully in a blanket, placing a pillow in his arms before flopping into bed himself. Great, he had been unproductive tonight, and now he was even more exhausted. _What a total waste!_

In the morning, Launchpad woke up on the floor. This...shouldn't have been a surprise, right? But after nearly ten full days of restful sleep, of waking up curled comfortably next to Drake, their hands clasped together, an anchor to hold him through the night... 

He didn’t know how to handle that comfort being torn away so suddenly, when he was just beginning to get used to it. He hugged the pillow closer and sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes. It's not that waking up on the floor was all that unusual, that wasn't what unsettled him so thoroughly.

He peeked up over the edge of the bed, afraid, for some reason, of what he might see. Drake's voice echoed in his mind: 

_I'll be near to chase away fear..._

_But then why did the fear come back last night?_

Drake had only just fallen asleep, half dressed, sprawled atop the bedsheets. He looked utterly exhausted, and Launchpad immediately worried about that; had he woken him up in the night in his terror? _Why had the terror even come back?_ He was full of questions, but he dared not wake him for answers, so he slunk back to his blanket nest, leaving Drake to his clearly much-needed rest.

Launchpad sat cross-legged for a while on the floor, the blanket draped over his shoulders, hugging the pillow in his arms. It smelled vaguely of Drake, and he pressed his face into it, a confused ball of emotions swirling up inside of him. It was still too early to get up; he didn't want to wake anyone else in the apartment, especially not when they had to leave today. He thought about climbing back into bed, but Drake looked worse for the wear, and he was already worried that he had disturbed him... 

Not only that, but even after his nightmares ended, vague images still haunted him, and the shadows in the room seemed too deep. He didn't really feel like going back to sleep. He sighed, pulling his phone off the charger and scrolling on Redduck for a while, waiting for the sun to come up.

Just as predicted, Drake did not sleep restfully, and he was a groggy mess when he finally woke up, well after the sun was up. He was initially surprised to find Launchpad absent from the space beside him but then he sat up and glanced down, and the pile of blankets heaped on the floor reminded him where Launchpad had slept last night. A little pang of guilt swept through him as he wondered about that. Had he been waiting up for him…? He dragged himself to the kitchen to find that everyone else was already awake. Well, everyone except Fenton, who was still sound asleep in the bathtub. "Mmmnh... what time is it?" 

BOYD chimed in with the time. "The time is 11:46am! You've been asleep for quite a while Mr. Drake! I was starting to worry, but Scoutmaster Launchpad said not to wake you!" 

Launchpad was sitting on the couch, still hugging the pillow, sipping a room temperature cup of coffee and looking a bit down. He was half-heartedly watching an episode of Darkwing Duck, while Dr. Gearloose sat at the kitchen table, fiddling with a tiny round gadget, muttering at it under his breath.

"Was I...? Sorry about that. Say, um..." Drake sat down on the couch next to Launchpad. "Seems like you had a rough night..." 

He felt like he owed him an apology, but then it would be obvious that he'd gone out. Not to mention that it was totally useless! All he did was stand around and argue with Gizmoduck. That goody-two shoes didn't understand that being sneaky and unpredictable were Darkwing Duck staples! Not to mention, being sneaky was how you managed to not get caught doing vigilante work in the first place! St. Canard wasn’t exactly the most hero-friendly city. 

Launchpad gave him a sidelong glance over the top of his pillow and nodded. "Yeah...nothing...uh...new though. What about you? You look terrible!"

"Let's just say... me too." Drake admitted, rubbing his face with the back of his knuckles. "But um, I figured... maybe this afternoon, we could all do something fun?"

It was almost afternoon already anyway.

Launchpad smiled, despite how tired he was. That did sound like it might help. 

"Yeah, that sounds..." 

BOYD wandered over to the couch and sat between them, looking up at Drake. He blinked at him, giving him an innocent smile. Then, he lowered his voice a bit. "Mr. Drake, I don't mean to be rude, but may I ask you something of a personal nature?"

"Something personal?" Drake sat up a little. 

He was starting to get used to how direct BOYD was. It was charming, he always said or asked exactly what he meant. He cracked open a room temperature can of Pep. It was definitely _that_ sort of morning. "Uh sure, go ahead..."

Without hesitation, BOYD tilted his head and asked Drake a simple, straightforward question. 

"Are you the alter-ego of the crime-fighting vigilante hero known as 'Darkwing Duck'? I asked Scoutmaster Launchpad earlier in our stay, but he keeps changing the subject. It seemed more logical to ask you directly."

Drake just stared at him, dumbfounded for a few seconds. "H-ha... what... why would you um... let me ask you something, why do you think that?"

Launchpad shook his head at Drake in warning but it was too late. BOYD had already begun listing all the ways they had given themselves away. 

“Let's see… starting on Monday when we arrived there was the residue from the compounds used to make smoke bombs on the coffee pot you washed, the 'field research' you do for Mr. Fenton, you are the exact same height, build, and foot size, as Darkwing Duck and you have the same eye color, cadence of speech and body language, often standing with your arms crossed or your hands on your hips with your chest puffed out, both of which can be signs of a repressed ego. Your favorite color is purple. The shopping list on the refrigerator is a list of utility items commonly used in scaling buildings and escaping from locked locations, the excessive amount of superhero paraphernalia in this apartment, and Scoutmaster Launchpad's phone lock screen has a photo of you both where you are next to him dressed as Darkwing Duck. Also, you invited Gizmoduck to come to this city while ‘a superhero’ was out, and you have been recovering from an injury that has taken approximately ten days to heal. Not to mention Darkwing Duck only became active once you arrived here in St. Canard from Duckburg..." 

He paused, looking Drake over, as though assessing new evidence. 

"Also, Gizmoduck's alert system sent out a memo last night that Darkwing Duck had been spotted in the city, you currently look exhausted, and my sensors detected you leaving the apartment through the window at approximately 2:23am." He smiled at Drake. 

Launchpad looked utterly horrified and stared at Drake helplessly. 

"That is why I have come to the conclusion that you're Darkwing Duck!"

Drake had to turn away from Launchpad quickly to spit out some of his Pep in shock, then sat there, staring blankly at him as he processed this for a few seconds. Now, most adults would probably turn to something like this and say 'gee, kids and their crazy imaginations!' 

But this kid was not only right, but had him pegged more ways than he ever expected. He experienced a brief moment of internal panic; could _anyone_ figure him out this fast? Did he need to move? Change his entire identity? Grow a mustache? He’d look terrible with a mustache, like some kind of _villain!_

He swallowed.

"Wow. You sure are thorough. Nothing gets past you. Well... yes, you're right. Launchpad and I are Darkwing Duck. But it’s a secret identity. So... don't tell anybody about it? Please?" 

Upon hearing all of this, a few things clicked into place for Dr. Gyro Gearloose. 

The operation they were running... it wasn’t drugs, or chemicals, or weapons, or selling tech. It wasn’t _any_ of the clandestine things he was suspicious of! He had been so quick to judge that he didn't even stop to realize that maybe his intern—now, his Assistant, had been right all along. Well, mostly right. 

"Wait-wait-wait- _wait_ a minute! Back up! Hold the phone there, BOYD. You're telling me that this supposed ' _hero_ ' we called Gizmoduck in to cover for was a fictional 90s TV show character?!"

BOYD stood up and walked over to Dr. Gearloose's side, glancing up at him. "I’m sorry, has my assessment caused you stress, Dr. Gearloose?" Dr. Gearloose just waved him off as if the very notion were ridiculous and crossed his arms, looking at Launchpad as if he expected some kind of explanation for this absurd potential waste of his valuable time. 

Launchpad looked borderline offended. 

"Hey! He's not fictional! Well, he _was_ fictional, but Darkwing Duck is more than just a TV show! He's a symbol for hope!" He reached over, almost on instinct, and took Drake's hand. "We're Darkwing Duck, and we're going to do what's right and protect this city. Just...please don't tell anyone, especially not the guys back in Duckburg. I'm… _we're_ gonna tell them… well… tell them something but… not yet. We need more time."

Drake felt the hand close around his own, and he slowly interlaced their fingers, without giving it a moment of thought or hesitation.

 _We_ are Darkwing Duck. 

Gearloose actually _was_ offended, but not for the reasons most would expect. To a degree, it came from a place of protectiveness towards Fenton, though he didn't want to say so. Fenton was… _important_ to him. 

"No, BOYD, _you_ didn’t do anything to stress me out. I just hope these two realize what they're getting into with this. And with how much work _Gizmoduck_ had to do these past few days, I do think that they're in over their heads." He sighed. "But... I can't stop you, and I... do promise not to tell anyone."

BOYD seemed relieved, and smiled at them. 

"Yes! I promise as well! I will not tell anyone that Scoutmaster Launchpad and Mr. Drake are Darkwing Duck, in fact, would you like to password protect this information?" Projected just in front of BOYD's eyes, a holoscreen popped up with a blinking cursor, prompting them to choose a secure password with at least one uppercase, one lowercase, one number, and one symbol.

"H-hey... how about this." Drake shook his head. "No need to do that, because we trust you."

BOYD blinked, and the screen vanished. He looked up at Dr. Gearloose, then at Drake, then smiled brightly. 

"You...trust me?" He took Dr. Gearloose's hand in both of his own in a gesture of excitement that was not unlike something a definitely real, definitely excited little boy would do. 

Gyro Gearloose looked down at him in surprise but didn't seem irritated by it. He even smiled a bit. BOYD turned back to Drake and Launchpad and held up his hand, giving the Junior Woodchuck Scout Promise. "I promise to keep your secret! You can count on me!”

Launchpad ruffled BOYD’s hair and grinned, giving him a thumbs up. “I knew we could! Thanks, BOYD. I really appreciate it! I _am_ counting on you. We both are.”

Fenton dragged himself out of the bathroom, trying to look less drained than he felt. He’d already washed his face and put on his shirt and tie, trying to look somewhat presentable, but it had been a rough night. He still buried one hand in his hair, anxiously preening himself as he brushed his teeth. 

He remembered Darkwing Duck from the Moonlander invasion, but he hadn’t expected him to be so self-absorbed! He tried to give Darkwing the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he was just grouchy… whatever trip he just returned from had likely gone poorly and he was taking it out on Gizmoduck, but still. _What an egotistical jerk!_ There was no reason to behave that way, especially towards a fellow hero trying to help out!

Not that there was anything he could do about it. He accepted the cup of warm coffee Drake offered him, but what cheered him up more was actually their small talk. The fact that Drake truly respected him, had an authentic interest in his research, and treated him as something of an authority figure when it came to science was both surprising and refreshing. He never considered himself an authority on anything. So what if Drake thought of Sodium Chloride as table salt, and Sodium Bicarbonate as baking soda, (technically, he wasn’t wrong) and had generally dangerous laboratory procedures? He took his advice seriously and listened to his ideas instead of just brushing them off. So what if he mixed smoke bombs in old gachapon capsules? 

It was all actually pretty clever. Practical. He had a weird, unpredictable way of doing things that most scientists didn’t consider, and Fenton loved it. They talked for some time over their notes, until Drake leaned back in his chair, tossing his empty Pep can into the box for recyclables. “Oh! I said earlier we should all… go do something fun. Sorry I’m just dragging you into more work stuff. If you don’t have to be back until later, what do you say to us all going out?” 

Fenton was tired, sure. As a matter of fact, he was chronically exhausted. But even so, spending the day out with Drake and everyone else before heading back to his day to day routine in Duckburg, especially after the night he'd had last night...it did have a certain wonderful appeal that outweighed his current fatigue. 

"That sounds illuminating! I don't have anything else scheduled for today…" 

Fenton shot a glance at Dr. Gearloose, who flicked his gaze between Drake, Launchpad, and the wide, pleading eyes of BOYD, who very clearly wanted very much to go but was programmed to be too polite to insist. Or rather, he’d created his own programming that made him too polite to insist; BOYD was writing his own personality coding these days. Lil’ Bulb gave him a helpless little shrug. 

Dr. Gearloose sighed and adjusted his glasses. "We _do_ have several hours available before we have to leave for Duckburg…but I want everyone on their best behavior!" 

BOYD grinned at him. "Of course, Dr. Gearloose! I'm always on my best behavior!" 

~☆~

Before long, they found themselves at a miniature golf course outside the mall, a somewhat low-budget location. The course was littered with tacky blacklight murals and creaky, gimmicky traps, and the admission window was manned by a bored teenager trying to focus on their pre-calculus homework. They didn’t even look at the odd group of guests as they handed over the tickets and pointed to the rack of colored clubs and buckets of neon golf balls. 

It was a fairly standard setup; mostly outdoors and sun-bleached astroturf courses, littered with crudely built plaster and steel-wire armature statues of cartoonish horror monsters. Its boundaries were lined with what could have been pool noodles in their past life, and the indoor areas droned cheesy late-80s synth music that could have loosely passed as “sci-fi themed” over the speakers, occasionally interrupted by a completely unfitting outdated pop song. 

“I didn’t say it was cool,” Drake explained, leaning on his club as he rolled a golf ball over his hands as though he was juggling it across his fingers. “I just thought it was something fun we could all do together.” 

Within moments of stepping into this wonderland of plaster and glow paint, BOYD was looking from point to point, focusing and refocusing his eyes and making calculations at incredible speeds. This was his first time at a mini golf course and he was determined to have fun correctly!

Dr. Gearloose didn't seem to notice. He was too busy tinkering with something small that he had pulled out of his pocket. Launchpad, on the other hand, had momentarily forgotten his nightmare and the sullen thoughts that had plagued him since. The synth music pushed them out of his mind as he raised the club over his head like a victory flag. His mood had improved significantly since they walked in the door. This was a familiar element to him. "This is going to be totally awesome! I love this kind of thing! What a great idea! Woo-hoo~!"

Lil’ Bulb ended up doing most of the putting for Dr. Gearloose, following along behind BOYD, who seemed to be systematically getting hole-in-ones at every single hole. It was rather comical to see the nearly fully upright club being carried along by the tiny lightbulb-headed robot, who held it like an oversized pencil near the base, and stopped to check the trajectory and wind resistance every few hits. Fenton followed up behind them, playing at a pace that was more casual, stopping to chat with Drake and Launchpad while Lil’ Bulb measured up its shots. 

“If this prototype works out well, I wouldn’t mind if you field tested a few more er...gizmos. It’ll be a huge help for me! The original model you sent me photos of just had one chamber, it appears to dispel the colored powder to make the ‘gas’ spill out. I added a few different chambers you can shift between, so you can have different varieties of the pellets you make in it, but if you want other functionalities, we can really improve on the original design.” 

“That sounds great! Once I’m in better shape, LP and I can do more field testing! Glad to be your uh...troubleshooter? Tester? Duck...guinea..pig?” Drake laughed a little.

Finally, Launchpad was up. He took his club, lined up the shot carefully, eyed the hole, then wound back and swung the club. Hard. Too hard. _Way_ too hard. 

It flew out of his hands, lodging itself in the windmill and ripping the plaster in the adjacent pirate ship decoration. Jammed, the windmill motor started smoking badly. Dr. Gearloose placed the small thing he had been tinkering with on the ground with a cocky smirk. A golf ball with robotic arms and legs sprang to life. 

"Golf-bot! Go fix the windmill!" He commanded it.

BOYD looked up from lining up his next shot, narrowing his eyes at the tiny robot. _Not again._ "Dr. Gearloose, do you think it is wise to unleash an untested Gearloose brand robot on a public family entertainment venue without the proper precautions?" 

Dr. Gearloose scoffed. "It's not going to turn evil! Besides, it's a golf ball! How much damage could it possibly do?!"

“Pretty impressive of Dr. Gearloose to make a repair-bot that fast,” Drake whistled, noticing that BOYD and Lil’ Bulb were already four holes ahead of them, playing with an almost terrifying efficiency. They were already on the 8th hole while he pulled his and Fenton’s matching purple balls out of the 4th... 

“Dr. Gearloose is... I think in any other realm he would be considered a mad scientist, but his work really inspires me! He’s a genius.” Fenton grinned, accepting his golf ball back as they advanced towards the next hole. “That is...when his inventions don’t turn evil.” 

But Drake just chuckled, unaware what level of danger these inventions could pose if they ‘turned evil.’...and unaware that the ‘if’ in that statement was typically a ‘when’. “LP really knows how to get dangerous, so it’s great that he’s here to help.” 

After several minutes passed, the windmill did indeed stop smoking, and with Launchpad's club dislodged, the blades began turning smoothly soon after. It seemed as though the Gearloose Golf-bot really had done an excellent job repairing the course. It was almost as good as new, although ‘new’ was a relative term at a place like this. Dr. Gearloose looked almost smug, putting one hand on his hip and adjusting his glasses before crossing his arms. 

"There, you see? Not evil. Just a perfectly safe, misunderstood little…" 

There was an ominous crashing noise on the next part of the course, and several other golfers came fleeing past them. 

"Run for your lives! That robot has turned evil!" 

As he stared irritably up at the looming figure of the robotic Godzilla animatronic, which became sentient, tore itself from the course, and was currently rampaging about and causing general destruction and mayhem, Dr. Gearloose spied a familiar neon speck lodged between its teeth, waving its tiny arms fiendishly. He rubbed his temples and let out a long, exasperated sigh. 

"Ughhh, not again… Oh, _come on_ ! That shouldn’t even be possible! The contraptions here are all far too primitive to cause any real destruction," he muttered. "Don't say a word, _not a word_!” 

Both Drake Mallard and Fenton Crackshell Cabrera looked up at the looming plastic-and-plaster robot-controlled monster, and inhaled deeply, some odd spark of resolution in their eyes, before looking at each other in an almost-panic. They needed some excuse to get out of here and get heroic help, without being too obvious! 

Now wasn’t the time for hesitation, it was time for _Gizmoduck!_

Now wasn’t the time for hesitation, it was time for _Darkwing Duck!_

“Um! I think I have to go to the bathroom!” They both said in unison, as the model train trestle ahead of them fell over and burst into flame as it crashed to the ground. Actually, a lot of things were bursting into flame. Was there even anything flammable in them? It was almost comical, like they were filled with gunpowder or gasoline, which they absolutely were not, it was all plaster and cheap foam covered in spray-paint sealers. 

The spray-paint sealers just happened to be _extremely flammable_. This place was probably a treasure trove of health and safety code violations. But they were each stopped by Launchpad’s hand on a shoulder, which wordlessly told them now was not the time, that they should wait and see how things played out. 

It was BOYD who sprung into action first. With a quick jump into the air, he plucked the tiny Golf-bot from the jaws of the animatronic robot with a simple sweep of his hand. With a flick of his wrist, the fingers of his other hand flipped open so he could spray fire extinguishing foam everywhere, creating a landscape that resembled faux-snow across the astroturf and rubble of the small chest-high walls, initially built of plaster and expanding foam, now in pieces around them.

BOYD landed neatly in front of Dr. Gearloose, deftly pressed several places on the tiny, angry neon golf ball robot, and deactivated it. He reached out and dropped it into Dr. Gearloose's outstretched palm. He looked at it for a moment, then slipped it into his pocket with a sigh and a grumble. He begrudgingly patted BOYD on the head, then gave him a weak smile. 

"Good job, BOYD. You were right, it still had a few kinks to work out, I suppose." 

He surveyed the damage. It wasn't even damage, really. _Damage_ wasn't the right word. It was more like _utter destruction_. There was a burst pipe leaking water into the plaster dust and foam that coated everything. Several tiny fires still stubbornly burned. The synth music was skipping obnoxiously like some kind of 80's nightmare soundtrack, and in the distant background he could hear the sound of crying children and lawsuits brewing. 

"Well," he quipped, "This was super fun." 

Fenton and Drake just stood there, bills hanging open at the whole scene. BOYD had indeed handled things much more efficiently (and with far less additional wanton destruction) than either Gizmoduck or Darkwing Duck could have, but something told them that this was probably what “miniature golf” meant to literally everyone else in their party. Surveying all this, a spark ran across Lil’ Bulb’s filament as though it were rolling its eyes, if it had eyes, and it putted its ball into the last hole. At least someone had finished the course. It stood on top of the remains of the tiny volcano triumphantly, which was pathetically blowing some red streamers in a mock-eruption. 

“Maybe we should…” Fenton began, and Drake grabbed his wrist in one hand, Launchpad’s in the other, interrupting his thought. Now was not the time for lawful good apologies and attempts to fix the mess. Saint Canardians weren’t exactly fans of apologies. 

“Yeah, let’s uh, get out of here…” 

“McDuck enterprises can pay for the damages!” Fenton called as they ran. 

The manager stomped after them, one hand holding a cellphone to their ear and the other waving a fist angrily. 

"GET BACK HERE! I OUGHT TO CALL THAT...THAT HERO! WHAT'S HIS NAME…? GIZMODUCK! HE'D TEACH YOU PUNKS A LESSON ABOUT TRASHING FAMILY FRIENDLY ENTERTAINMENT VENUES!" 

They fled as a group, Fenton, Drake, and Launchpad hand in hand, Gearloose and BOYD not far behind, and not one of them looked back, except for Lil’ Bulb, who was gesturing rudely at the manager from the top of BOYD’s head. It was only a few blocks away, when the angry shouts had died down and it seemed that their harrowing escape was more or less successful, that they stopped running at last. The group dipped into an alley nearby for a breather to collect themselves and avoid further attention.

Dusting himself off, Drake griped to nobody in particular. “Call Gizmoduck, _whatever_. He’s not even from around here! Sheesh, nobody appreciates that Darkwing Duck should be the real Canardian Guardian.” Drake grumbled. 

Lil’ Bulb, on the other hand, was mostly annoyed that no one appreciated its triumphant domination of the course, especially that last, _totally wicked_ hole-in-one. BOYD picked it up, giving it a little high-five and some friendly encouragement. 

Fenton leaned against a wall in the alleyway, trying to catch his breath. “Citizens shouldn’t call on heroes for everything, but we did cause a lot of...wanton destruction. Perhaps we should… go back and help repair the damages when everything is less hectic.” 

“Don’t waste your time. That ingrate will be thanking their lucky stars for the havoc we caused once their insurance claims kick in, if they’ve got half a brain cell left after inhaling all the fumes from that ridiculous spray paint and all that _incredibly_ flammable sealer. Trust me, I’ve caused enough purely unintentional collateral damage in my time to know these things. We just did that clown a _favor_.” Gearloose insisted. “Besides, what’s a little property damage?”

"Yeah, what's a little property damage…?" Launchpad said gloomily as he leaned against the brick wall of the nearest building and kicked a small rock. It ricocheted off of a blue street mailbox and dented someone's car, setting off a car alarm. He rubbed the side of his face. "Gee, DW—Drake, you know, maybe it would have been better if you went ...without me. This whole mess was kinda my fault and…" He paused, realizing with sudden clarity why Drake had snuck out without him. The realization hurt a lot more than he wanted to admit. "...and I...I wouldn't want to get in the way." he finished, trying not to let Drake see how shaken he was. 

But Drake just shook his head. “What? LP, what are you talking about? Sure, it may have ended in disaster, but that was more on Golf-bot’s, er, _overenthusiasm_ than anything you did, and for what it’s worth, uh, hello? _Giant robot fight?!_ Can you get any more classic? I thought it was sort of exciting!” 

“Hey, I-I don’t think we should be condoning property damage when it’s intentional—” Fenton attempted to intervene. “But we shouldn’t go around passing blame for accidents, either. Nobody wins that way. I think the fun just, ah, got a bit out of hand, that’s all. Still, I really appreciate that you two could show us a taste of St. Canard! This entire experience was indeed quite illuminating! Luckily, we’ll be out of your feathers soon, and you can get back to your vacation!”

"Yeah...sure…" Launchpad offered Drake and the others a half-hearted smile, but he had convinced himself the reason that Drake left him behind the previous night was because he was a walking fire hazard. And _wet floor_ sign. And _caution, bridge out ahead!!_ And… 

Well, he believed he was… dangerous. Not the fun, exciting kind of dangerous that flaps in the night. The kind that got people hurt. The kind that scared people off. Maybe Drake had finally realized that. 

He made sure to leave a healthy space between them on their walk home, just in case. 

_Just in case._

Packing everything up and getting ready to leave didn’t take long, but somehow they still all lingered in the hallway saying their goodbyes. Drake reminded Fenton that they were welcome anytime, and thanked him repeatedly for the “prototype.” Dr. Gearloose was quick to hustle everyone down the stairs, insisting they’d all spent entirely too much time away from the lab as it was. Watching them go, Drake was struck by how quiet and empty things seemed in their absence. He held tightly onto Launchpad’s hand, long after they had shut the door behind their guests. 

_You know, for moral support. That’s all. Those were his friends. LP probably wouldn’t see them again for a while. He might be sad about that. That was a perfectly valid reason to hold someone’s hand...and not for any other reason._

Certainly not because he was trying to think of a way to say he regretted missing the chance to hold it the previous night. Or because of any confusing, unspoken _stubborn_ feelings that he kept putting in a box and shoving into the mustiest back corner of his soul’s closet. 

_Definitely not. Nope. Just...moral support._

_LP looked like he could use it, anyway. Which was probably his fault._

_Nice going, Drake. Some hero you are._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so, so much for reading! All we wanted in writing this was for people to read it, so we hope you enjoy it! Our heroes will be back to their derring-do next chapter!


	8. Let's Get Back In Action

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning - this chapter contains: discussions of coping with trauma.

Drake's hand in Launchpad’s felt both right and wrong. He wanted to interlock their fingers but instead he pulled his hand free, turning to head back to the apartment. There were too many questions in the palm of Drake Mallard's hand. Questions he didn’t want to think about. 

Glancing between the stairs and the freshly-repaired elevator, the stairs seemed like a simpler choice. The  _ safer  _ choice. Even so, as evening shifted over the city, the stairs seemed less like an adventure and more like a means to an end. Before today, he was excited at the idea of being alone with Drake, of it being just the two of them against the world once again. So why did the idea now fill him with such dread? Why were the stairs so...ominous?

Drake was too tired to rush up the stairs as he always did, and the awkward, looming silence weighed on him. Looking back on the events of the previous night, the argument with Gizmoduck, the way Launchpad now seemed so hesitant… he didn’t feel like playing hero or engaging in hero training. After they scaled the stairs, he lingered in the hall.

“Hey, LP? Do you want to… come sit on the roof with me for a while?”

Anything seemed better than the sudden looming emptiness of the apartment, so Launchpad nodded. The air might clear his head a bit. He felt almost dizzy; like his feelings flipped over several times and now he didn't know which way was up. 

Following Drake up to the roof, Launchpad was quiet, he didn’t trust himself; there were too many questions lingering unspoken between them. Up on the roof, he sat near the edge, pulled his knees up close to him and wrapped his arms around them, looking up at the stars and cityscape before them.

The edges of the sky were painted orange and bright purple from the twilight, and Drake sat on the edge of the roof, propping his elbows up on his knees, resting his bill in his hands. It was some time before he finally built up the courage to speak.

“So… I did sneak out last night. It was… stupid. I felt like I wanted to catch up, you know, do some crime fighting! I got impatient from being on bedrest for so long. It went...really crappy. I ran into Gizmoduck and he totally let the perp get away — no-” He stopped himself. “Actually,  _ I  _ let the perp get away. It was all useless. I was… being stupid. I should’ve asked you to go with me, but you took care of me. I didn’t want to trouble you? You know, you deserve some good sleep… you do so much, I haven’t done anything in what, like three, almost four weeks now? Ugh. And stupid Gizmoduck even reminded me that I shouldn’t be out here doing stuff by myself. How am I supposed to — I don’t know. Sorry. I’m just sort of rambling, I didn’t think my words through before telling you…” He picked up a dead leaf from the roof beside him, twirling it in his fingers for a moment before letting it fall. He watched it float and flutter down over the side of the building and vanish into the darkened shadows of the street below.

Launchpad stared at him, watching the way the fading light hit his face, how conflicted he looked. He thought about the night he spent on the floor after Drake's hand had kept him anchored in peaceful sleep all the rest. He thought about the whole day he spent worrying, stressed out, thinking that Drake decided to sneak out because he wanted nothing to do with him.

"You...really didn't think it through, did you, DW? I really thought...all day, I really thought you snuck out because you didn't want me around. Because I'm…"

Launchpad paused, then made several vague gestures that resembled a bicycle, a tornado and an explosion. "You know, a liability. I thought you finally figured you'd be better off without… someone like me. Also, y’know, I slept  _ terrible  _ last night. You would’ve been better off wakin' me up." 

Drake seemed surprised to hear this. 

“But you — I thought — no! Not at all! We’re partners! I just thought you deserved the rest… you even kept my apartment clean! I haven’t been doing much other than preparing meals. Seriously, I just slept a bunch! I’m sorry, LP. I...yeah. I shouldn’t try to be Darkwing Duck by myself… I was hoping I could give you a break.”

"A break…? Are you kidding? When BOYD said you snuck out by yourself I was worried sick! What if you got hurt? I took care of you all that time because… because I hated seeing you get hurt to begin with! I don't want anything bad to happen again. We've got to look out for each other, DW, and how can we do that if…" 

_ If you don't trust me? _

He couldn't bring himself to say those words so he just sighed and spread his hands.

"You don't have to make anything up to me, just promise me you'll stay safe. Negaduck is still out there, and who knows what else… I… I don't want to see you hurt again." He took Drake's hand and squeezed it gently.

Drake slowly interlaced their fingers, turning his gaze back to the city lights and the silhouette of the bridge in the distance. All of those overwhelming feelings, the storm of emotions swirling in his heart kept bubbling back up, and he tried not to let it show. "I know... You’re right. You’re usually right, LP. I save the day, and you save me."

Launchpad pulled him closer gently, resting their shoulders together as they gazed over the city. 

_ Their _ city. 

Drake's hand felt right in his again. It felt safe. Comfortable.

"Aw, don't let Gizmoduck get to ya, DW. He means well. He just...doesn't think things through before he talks. You know..." He glanced at Drake, a little smile playing at his beak. "You two might even be friends if you got to know each other..."

This earned a chuckle from Drake, who ran his thumb over the back of Launchpad’s palm as he gazed down at their joined hands. "Now who's not thinking things through before he talks?" 

The city lights washed up into the sky, making the stars feel dim and far away. It was familiar. It was home. And Launchpad’s hand in his own was home. "Hey, LP...?"

"Hm...?" His attention was on the view, but he leaned his head on Drake's shoulder, letting the relief sink into him, the tension of the day's anxieties flowing out of him now that he knew the truth. Drake really was only trying to look out for him, in his own way. "What is it, DW?"

Drake smiled. That was exactly what he wanted to hear. He wanted to say _ so many _ things. To share how he felt, to say something,  _ anything  _ about how Launchpad made him feel. He decided to start with a smaller truth. A tiny admittance.

"I... really like it when you call me DW."

Launchpad sat up slightly, then pulled Drake into his arms. It felt unbelievably nice to just hold him, the cool night air breezing around them, the vibrant sounds of the city alive below them. 

"That's good to hear, DW."

Horns were honking in the distance, and somehow Drake didn’t mind them at all. "So... back in action... tomorrow, maybe?"

"Well...actually...I was hoping tomorrow I could show you something. I've been workin’ on a surprise." He smiled a bit, burying his face against Drake's shoulder. "I was waiting for everyone to leave so I could show you. Can we...go to the hideout tomorrow?"

"To the hideout...?" Drake looked down at their joined fingers and smiled. "Sure. I’m not busy."

Launchpad chuckled and gave his hand a little squeeze. "You sure? No lurking scheduled? No nights to terrorize? You don't have anywhere dangerous to be...?" He offered him a little smirk.

"Well, we can pencil that in, you know, some flapping in the night, lurking in dark places, swooping out of the shadows. But not in too weird a way," Drake shrugged, but didn't let go of his hand.

Launchpad held him close and sighed, content, feeling like he was finally home at the end of a long day. "Sounds perfect, DW. Just...perfect."

"What does? The lurking? The flapping? Which?"

Launchpad just laughed gently, wrapping him in a hug and nuzzling his beak against his shoulder. "All of it. The whole deal."

"LP, I'm glad you don't think I'm just some purple weirdo. I think this place really could use some stalwart bravery and dangerousness. You know, Launchpad specialties." Drake got up, pausing for a few seconds longer to feel the breeze and take in the sound of the city surrounding them. To some, peace was laying on a beach somewhere, for him, it was right here.

Launchpad already knew he was dangerous, but... 

He blushed in the darkness, rubbing the back of his neck as he stood up. "Gee, DW, you really think I'm as brave as all that? Even with..." He faltered, realizing that with everyone going home to Duckburg, there was no reason for him to sleep in Drake's bed anymore. He swallowed at the thought of sleeping alone on the couch again. And the floor. 

"Even with...my nightmares?" he finished softly, glancing away.

"Hey, everybody's got nightmares, but..." Drake gestured grandly with one hand as he took Launchpad’s in the other. His tone could’ve easily been mocking or dismissive, but Drake knew from experience what it was like to be ridiculed, so his words had a gentler cadence behind them; something he’d wished for, and now made a point to offer to others:

_ Acceptance _ . 

He struck an inspiring pose and made another broad gesture of grandeur as he continued explaining. "It’s just...bold inner demons to face, horrible secrets, memories you wish to not remember, for some people they're more haunting and painful than others. Yours are bigger and scarier, and maybe too hard to deal with for me to relate. Or for me to truly understand what you’re going through, what you face each night. But still... when they haunt  _ beyond  _ your nightmares, that's the problem. You can’t always battle them away, even if you're strong and bold and brave..." 

He let his voice drop, holding their clasped hands together with both of his own. "It doesn’t make you any less courageous to struggle with nightmares, there's nothing cowardly about not wanting to face them alone..."

Launchpad fought back tears; whether they were tears of joy, relief, or another unspoken, nameless emotion, he was helpless to say. His voice was barely above a whisper, and the night wind threatened to swallow it up. "DW, are ya sayin’...does this mean I can...? Even though everyone is gone, I-I can still...?"

Confusion washed over Drake's face. He had no idea that the simple gesture of their clasped hands at night meant so much. Drake just liked... holding hands with Launchpad.

"You can still...what? Battle nightmares? I mean, I guess?"

Launchpad just kind of stared at him awkwardly, his brain stuck on a loop. Had Drake...not realized? Had he not made the connection between holding his hand through the night and...? Even with that endearing ego streak of his, did he really not realize how  _ important  _ he…? 

Oh. 

_ Oh. _

Launchpad laughed, holding both of Drake's hands against his cheeks, then laughed even harder, until he was almost crying. Finally, he took a deep breath, holding Drake's hands against his face and enjoying the warmth.

"DW, I don't know how to tell you this, but...you're not always the sharpest of the sharpies. But that's okay. Neither am I. Didn't you notice that I slept fine all week...except for the night you snuck out? Did you think that was...a coincidence?" Launchpad squeezed his hand lightly, giving him a pointed look. 

"What? Well, I thought maybe I left the window open, or I somehow disturbed you by leaving!"

Launchpad intertwined their fingers slowly, carefully. 

Meaningfully. 

"I mean, I guess, in a way, you did disturb me by leaving. You weren't there...to chase away fear." He gave him a tiny smile, holding their clasped hand over his heart. "I know it's...silly, a grown duck, needing something like  _ this  _ to get through the night..."

"It's not silly. You're struggling with...well, I can't be the one to tell you what your struggles are. I feel like that wouldn't be fair to you. But if it helps..." He gazed at Launchpad, admiring the way the ambient lights of the city lit his face and that small smile playing at his beak.

The city always seemed so massive and looming to Drake, and he felt so insignificant in the face of it all. It made him feel fragile to look out at the skyline, or gaze up at the dizzying height of a skyscraper. But now, up on this rooftop beneath the stars, it felt like the only thing that mattered was right in front of him. It was as if the enormous city paused to move around them and it was just the two of them as all of his swirling feelings orbited around them. Oh, and there was a lump in his throat. And his face was hot. And he’d forgotten all of the words that ever existed.

"Um. What I mean to say is... well, er, if you, I.. if it helps, that can happen.... more." 

_ Nailed it, Drake! _

Launchpad grinned, and that grin grew all the wider with unfettered joy as he realized Drake's ribs were finally healed, and he did something he had been wanting to do for nearly a month now; he swept Drake into a tight, rib-crushing hug of sheer gratitude, lifting him off the ground and holding him close. He nuzzled his beak into his neck, then released him, murmuring as he did: 

"Thanks a lot, DW. I guess you really  _ can  _ fight my fears."

He let out a strained gulp through the hug that squeezed all the air out of his lungs, his voice a suppressed croak. Wow, LP really had some grip! "Yeah. Let me at ‘em. I’ll save you, citizen!"

They went inside, creeping carefully through the hallway so as not to wake up any of their elderly neighbors. Launchpad stood at the threshold for a moment, taking it in. The apartment suddenly seemed much bigger without their guests. He stepped in behind Drake, following him closely. 

"DW, I...thanks. For inviting me up to the roof. I...really needed that."

"Anytime, LP, though I thought I was the one who needed it."

The threshold to Drake's bedroom loomed as a decisive portal for Launchpad, and he lingered there, brushing his fingers against the doorframe. Standing empty, the apartment felt like it was taunting him, the entire space demanding explanations that he didn't have, for questions he couldn't fathom. The heaviness in his chest made him consider facing the couch alone again rather than stepping over that threshold, answering the silent, questioning night; why, why did he need someone so close to him?

Why did he have so many fears to chase away? 

Though Launchpad’s doubts lingered on very serious past traumas and nightmares born of things that may or may not have been real, but became real through his fear, Drake Mallard’s concerns were far more shallow. 

Stupid Gizmoduck and his stupid stinging advice. Implying that  _ he  _ wasn’t cut out for this?! That...that...! Sellout, lawful good…  _ Fear not citizen!… Stop in the name of the law!…  _ overhyped… clunky, crowd-pleasing…  _ JERK!  _ He didn’t understand that sometimes you had to do things a bit differently! He could protect people! He could protect his own partner, right?

_...right? _

Drake collapsed onto the bed and looked up at Launchpad, who seemed to be indecisively lingering in the doorway. “Hey, what’s with that look, LP?”

"I dunno, DW. It's just…" Launchpad looked a bit embarrassed and shrugged, shuffling over to sit next to Drake on the bed, then flopped over backwards to stare at the ceiling. "Ugh, I don't want to think about that stuff. I'd rather think about anything else. Why can't my brain just be full of that saxophone from the theme song?" 

“Fine, then let’s think about something else. Talk about something else. We can talk about DW fan theories, or plans to go shopping...maybe that’s stupid boring adult stuff, but I got pretty excited when I saw we had enough from trash hauling to buy the  _ good  _ bread…” Drake lay back next to him, knees and feet still dangling off the bed. “It’s weird to say let’s talk about our fan theories after we’ve lived it, isn’t it?”

This drew a small chuckle from Launchpad. "Yeah, I guess so. Who would have guessed Dr. Bushroot was real, huh? I wonder if my fan fiction origin story is accurate…? It's weird to think we're living through  _ our  _ origin story right now, huh, DW? Do you think we're the campy original or the gritty reboot?"

Drake rolled over so he was propping himself up on his elbows. 

“A little bit of column A, a little bit of column B. I prefer the campy original, but reboots can be fun, when the writing doesn’t suck. I hope ours gets to be the reboot that honors the original, you know? I wasn’t too excited about the writing for the movie, but that’s showbiz, bay-bee. They wanted to make it marketable to the masses, you know? Put some grainy filters over it, camera shake, blue lighting, blue and orange box cover, make it dark and turn up the bass on the score and it’ll make millions. I hope our reboot is a passion project instead. I mean… I feel like we’re putting a lot of passion into this...project?” 

As he felt the tension melt away with their casual conversation, Launchpad couldn't help but smile. 

_ Passion…?  _

"Yeah, I think you're right about that, DW. If there's one thing we've got plenty of around here, it's passion. And purple. And puns. And...a fourth thing that starts with 'p'?" He laughed, putting a hand up to the side of his head. His anxiety had more or less passed, and it seemed like a strange, hazy memory, like waking from a night terror. His fears had been replaced with the simple comfort of Drake's company and pleasant, easy conversation. He smiled.

“....Power? Punches? ...hm… are we still in the Pilot episode? Or have we reached the main plot? Or maybe we’re persevering protagonists? I was just thinking last night that I need to work on my witty banter material. You know, not just puns, but alliterative smack talk? You know, Negaduck had no taste, not being one for my intro. I’m trying to not recycle much from the show though. I want new stuff.” He realized how close they were, and he could feel that annoying warmth creeping up his cheeks again. Drake was smiling regardless, and stopped himself to clarify. “I mean, if you think it’s a good idea to come up with new stuff. Gotta keep the terror that flaps in the night though. That part is mandatory.”

Launchpad couldn't help but laugh gently at that, putting one hand to his head and running his fingers slowly through his hair as he did. "Yeah, you got me there, DW. It's a classic. We can't go messing with the classics." 

Something secret passed between the spaces in their conversation. It was a coded message in a wordless lexicon, written in the glances they stole and the depth of their shared laughter.

Somewhere in the distance, the St. Canard bell tower chimed out the time. It was getting late. Launchpad tried to stifle a yawn in a way that he hoped Drake wouldn't notice; he was utterly exhausted from the shenanigans at the golf course.

The smile on Drake’s face was clear. Something about Launchpad calling him ‘DW’ felt so  _ right. _

“Yeah, I’m thinking of slamming down the smoke bomb, appearing from the smoke, then giving the second half of the intro, and that’ll be a smaller window for the villain to attack? You know, get that good ‘terror that flaps in the night’ bit in before revealing myself. Heh.” He rolled over, grabbing the blanket. “But we can worry about that tomorrow.”

"Yeah, plenty of time to get, well, the timing down, right?" Launchpad chuckled lightly, then laid back. Resting his head on the pillow, he turned to look at Drake hesitantly. 

"Hey, DW, you'll...be here, right? Tonight, I mean…" He flushed slightly and pulled the blanket up a little. "...the whole night…?" 

Drake took his hand gently, intertwining their fingers as he settled in. There wasn’t anywhere he would rather be. “What was it I said? I’ll be near to chase away fear? So...you can sleep now and dream til tomorrow.” 

He gazed down at their hands, clasped together for a lingering moment, then gave Drake's hand a gentle squeeze. His words had been exactly the reassurance he needed. He closed his eyes, relaxing, Drake's hand anchoring him to safety and comfort, and murmured softly: 

"Goodnight, DW." 

“Goodnight, LP.” 

~☆~ 

The morning came all too soon, and Drake slept far better than he was expecting. He rolled out of bed, reluctantly detaching himself from Launchpad to get dressed and wander into the kitchen to prepare breakfast. He surveyed the room as the coffee brewed; it really did feel bigger now that everyone was gone. 

Not that he didn’t like it. It was just different. So much of his life had changed in the past few months. There was a whole new set of things to worry about, new doubts, new fears he didn’t think he had, but at the same time… 

Launchpad was there, and they’d already begun to change things on a grander scale. Maybe make the city a tiny bit better. Between picking up trash and well — attempting to thwart villains. Maybe making a difference. Everything felt different. The Darkwing Duck posters on the wall were different, in a way that he couldn’t express with words. It wasn’t like the feeling that made his chest tight and his cheeks hot when he and Launchpad looked at each other, it was a different feeling. Like a weight, but a weight that made him stand a little straighter, keep his gaze a little higher. How long had it been there? It was definitely new, but it was becoming familiar. It was becoming a part of him. 

Drawn from a peaceful sleep by the smell of fresh coffee, Launchpad appeared from the bedroom, stretching and looking very well-rested. 

"Hey! Morning, DW! Are you ready to hit the streets today?" He smiled, rummaging in the cabinet for his coffee cup.

Drake busied himself with very carefully pulling several of his large framed posters off of the walls, notably only the ones that were specifically photos of Jim Starling as Darkwing Duck. Standing on top of the couch cushions, he rested each frame delicately on the floor against the wall.

“Oh! Yeah! We can get to work, I’m good to go whenever you’re ready, I know you wanted to go to the secret lair…?” 

Turning to watch him for a moment, full coffee cup in hand, he paused mid-sip, tilting his head. 

"Whatcha up to there? Do you, uh...need a hand? I can come help you out with that before I get dressed…?" 

He looked mildly concerned, but mostly confused at seeing Drake disturb his beloved collection. 

“You can go ahead and get ready. I’m… I decided I’m done with hero worship. It’ll feel a lot better if we can change up the uh… the merch in here? I think… my idea of Darkwing Duck is changing. He still inspires me, you know? But I think ehhhh,  _ maaaaaybe _ it’s a bit unhealthy to paper my walls with pictures of the guy who held a chainsaw to my throat, you know? Just a little.” 

In a moment of sudden, horrifying clarity Launchpad realized that the entire time he was healing, Drake was forced to look at Jim Starling's cocky, smiling face on the dozen or so posters and signed, framed bits of memorabilia in the living space. Jim Starling, the very duck whose foot crushed his ribs and his sense of hero worship in one stomp. Launchpad nodded slowly, taking a long sip of his coffee. "That...seems like a pretty healthy reaction, I think." 

Drake made a decent stack of the posters, leaning them all against each other; he stuck sticky notes on each with approximate values he knew them to be worth. Clapping his hands together, he surveyed the room. The walls were nearly barren except for comic posters and art, as well as the video game poster.

“...Ah. Well.” He nodded, as though this was a completely natural development. “Never meet your heroes, I guess. Sometimes they get super mad, shove you in a closet, and try to kill you.” 

"Uh, right...I guess there were more than I realized…" Launchpad felt a bit silly. Of course. They just talked about taking down all of the looming, leering photos of Jim, hadn't they? But even so, Launchpad had been woefully unprepared for the absence of the portraits. The bare walls were such a sudden contrast to… his mind drifted back to the first time he stepped into Drake's apartment, that sense of treading somewhere sacred, like this was a holy place because of the level of hero worship bestowed upon it. Somehow that idea felt almost... _ dirty _ now. Like it had soured. The memory now gave him an uncomfortable shiver. 

Still, the barren walls were a chance to give this desecrated temple new life.

"I think it'll be perfect, as long as we don't have to look at that smug grin of his anymore." Launchpad declared with a little nod and a fairly smug grin of his own. 

Surveying his work, Drake clapped his hands together in satisfaction. “Hey! So now that I feel a lot better, shall we… get training and get dirty?”

"I don't know, are you sure you're ready for something like that? I've heard it can get pretty...dangerous." He grinned broadly and elbowed him playfully in the ribs. "Hey, DW...race ya down the stairs to the truck? Loser has to take Dr. Gearloose's elevator back up when we get back!" He smirked.

“You’re on, LP! I eat danger for breakfast, with a side of waffles and orange juice as part of a balanced meal!” Nobody wanted to risk that elevator up OR down. It was noisy and had a strange, almost evil-sounding hum to it. Besides, he wanted to practice bounding over the railings and get used to descending the floors parkour-style.

Right from the get go, Launchpad gave him a run for his money. No way did he want to ride that creepy elevator back up. The thing had bad vibes, which was saying a lot for an inanimate machine. He wasn't about to go easy on Drake just because he was out of practice. Besides, he knew if he did Drake wouldn't let him live it down. 

However, neither of the pair was able to get in much practice or endurance training during the past month, so it wasn't exactly a spectacular, action-packed race with a clear cut winner. It was something closer to a draw.

All said and done, it wasn’t Drake’s best time down by a long shot. He was used to taking the stairs two or three at a time daily, all twelve flights, but for the past month he was carried or walked at a regular pace, leaning on the railings when he had to. Still, he was breathing heavily and smiling broadly as he landed at the bottom. Who would have thought he’d be excited to go back to work? Work with trash, of all things? But there was something different and new about doing it with Launchpad, who was indomitable in his energy, and always kept him on his toes. 

Leaning one hand on the wall at the bottom of the stairs for support and huffing to catch his breath, Launchpad let out a long, sighing breath. 

"Whew! Ya know, I've actually kind of missed that? It's...uh...it's a rush!" He grinned at Drake, flashing him a thumbs up. "Why don't we call it a draw and both agree to never set foot in that elevator again?" 

“Hah! Normally I would say you’re saying that because you lost,” Drake retorted through ragged breaths, but there was obviously a grin on his face. “But I agree. No creepy elevator. Just trash. We get paid by weight, right? We should load the truck up with a bunch of that stuff from the riverside after our routes.” 

Launchpad straightened up, stretching, and brightened at this."Hey, yeah! We gotta head that way anyway so I can show you what I've been workin' on!" 

They spent the morning getting back into their routine. Drake didn’t have the stamina he usually maintained from daily training, but he knew he would have to build that back up over time. Still, they managed to finish their routes in time, and with minimal accidents. 

It was mid-afternoon by the time they parked the truck in one of the few murky shadows beneath the bridge down by the bay. The sun was high, cracking the mud by the bank and sending the bugs scattering into the weeds and concrete for shelter from the heat. The cement walls that sloped down towards the river’s edge from the road were warm to the touch from baking all day in the summer sun, and the rank scent of warm garbage blended with the salt scent from the bay and wafted up to meet them as they arrived. The people of the city certainly hadn't taken a month off from dumping their refuse in this conveniently out of the way location just because one local garbage man was injured; there was a veritable treasure trove of brand new trash waiting for them along the bayside. They definitely had their work cut out for them.

Which suited them just fine! More work just meant more training, and more trash meant more weight in the truck, and more money to go shopping for new Darkwing supplies and apartment swag. The view of the hideout door, still safely locked, filled Launchpad with a little jolt of excitement. He was looking forward to showing off the hideout.

"We've got plenty of material to work with here, huh?" He gave Drake a helpless smile.

Drake made a mocking strongman pose. “We’ll clean this place up so good, people will be embarrassed to drop their trash here! Over...the course of a few weeks, of course. Okay, maybe a couple months. But we can do it. I believe in us.” 

Launchpad put his foot up on a rusty old barrel and put one hand on his hip, striking a dramatic pose. 

"We'll do it, and we'll do it together, or my name isn't Launchpad McQuack!" 

The barrel rolled loose beneath his foot and he tumbled off balance, almost falling face-first into a pile of rotting, sun-bleached newspapers. He caught himself, chuckling awkwardly as he dusted himself off. "Er...heh heh…anyway, uh...you wanna come check out the hideout?" 

Drake used a crowbar to pry the door off of a broken refrigerator, and hauled the door over to the truck once he successfully busted it open, tossing it into the back with a trash bag filled with discarded bedsheets and foul-smelling food leftovers. He cleared a small path towards the door, a bit relieved that it seemed nobody was interested in heading down this way. Maybe someday they could have a cool trapdoor! But for now...

Weird rusty trash door it was. 

“Sure. It’ll be nice to smell some musty dust air instead of rank garbage air.”

Reaching into his jacket pocket, he retrieved a small key ring with a tiny Darkwing Duck logo keychain and removed a copy of one of the keys. He grinned, giving the key to Drake and pointing to the new padlock.

"Go ahead, give it a try!"

Drake unlocked and pushed open the door, which was considerably less squeaky than he remembered, as he stepped inside.

Launchpad followed eagerly behind him, watching to see his reaction as they climbed the stairs. He had spent so much time up here by himself, getting it ready, all for this moment...he could hardly contain how excited he was as they ascended the rusted metal steps.

Last time Drake was here, he spent his time laying on the floor, a broken mess of sorrow, remorse, and pain. He’d hoped ‘what doesn't kill you makes you stronger,’ but in a way the reality turned out to be more along the lines of ‘what doesn't kill you just leaves you with trauma and a vague understanding of your own eventual death.’ 

Or something like that. If he could keep getting up, he could keep fighting.

Launchpad stopped Drake just before they got to the hatch so that he could push ahead, giddy with anticipation, telling him to close his eyes as he pushed the hatch open for the big reveal: The hideout was now almost unrecognizable. A rug covered the spots where he reinforced the floor. A few sturdy flat-pack shelves filled with books on law, crime-fighting, detective novels, comic books, on one side and various tools, action figures and collectible knick knacks on the other lined the walls. There were two swivel chairs in front of an old scratch-worn coffee table, as well as a couple bean bag chairs tossed beside the couch for good measure.

The walls were what stood out, though. They were lined with photographs; selfies they had taken on missions, pictures of important moments and places, newspaper clippings of the few crimes they stopped. The movie poster Drake signed for Launchpad was framed, hanging in a place of honor at the center. Their legacy, surrounding them on every wall. This secret life they built together, hidden amongst the trash. 

Drake was speechless. The hideout was transformed; a brand new, yet somehow familiar place. It was unmistakably  _ theirs _ . Suddenly, taking all those posters off the walls of the apartment didn't feel so silly. He turned around slowly, wowed by all of it; the care, the details, the way everything wasn’t just a tribute, but a functional aspect of a  _ real  _ secret lair. 

Now  _ this  _ was more like it! After a prolonged moment, he turned back to Launchpad and threw his arms around him, eyes watering from pure joy. "This is amazing! Incredible! You did this all by yourself, LP? You're awesome!"

Launchpad wrapped his arms around Drake’s middle, thrilled by his reaction. "Really? You like it? I wanted to capture the… the feeling, you know?" He looked around fondly at the hideout. "I just wanted it to be a place for… us."

"It's perfect!! It's better than any comic book!" Drake was beaming as he buried his face in Launchpad’s chest, practically laugh-crying.

The larger duck nuzzled his face against the side of Drake's neck, holding him close. "I'm really glad you like it, DW." He felt like his heart was no longer pounding from excitement, but simply from having Drake pressed so close against him. He blushed slightly, burying his face against Drake's shoulder.

Drake finally pulled away after a long moment, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. He rushed up the spiral stairs to the shutters, twirling around as he reached the landing. Throwing his hands in the air, he bounced up and down on his heels with every step, a perfect imitation of an excited kid seeing a _ superhero’s  _ secret lair for the first time.

"It's really real! Darkwing Duck’s secret lair!  _ Our  _ secret lair!"

Launchpad opened the shutters, which slid smoothly without protest, giving Drake the beautiful view of the cityscape they both loved. He climbed up beside Drake and sat next to him by the windowsill, looking out over the city. "There it is...all of St. Canard. Waiting for us...." He sighed softly, taking it in.

Drake leaned against the windowsill, just as awed by the view as the very first time. The city sprawled out right to the water’s edge, threatening to spill over into the bay. It wasn’t what one would call pretty or glamorous; the buildings hung at odd, crooked angles, and several were boasting broken windows that grinned at them like missing teeth. The air carried a unique city-stink that he could never quite place, and the infrastructure was a confusing grid of one-way streets and vague road signs. It was industrial, disheveled, smoggy, and even a little bit gross. He took Launchpad’s hand in his own again, holding onto him tightly.

"It's home."

Launchpad tore his gaze from the view of the city, glancing over at Drake. He watched his features; the enthusiasm that welled up inside of him was painted right into his expression. Drake wore his hope like a badge of honor, and the way he straightened his shoulders and puffed his chest out as he breathed gave him the air of one who craved respect but didn’t quite have the confidence to command it. In Launchpad’s opinion, it just made him look handsome, and daring, and a bit roguish in the right light. 

The hideout  _ definitely  _ had the right light. 

Launchpad smiled gently and gave his hand a firm squeeze, pulling him in close. He could feel the sunlight from the open shutter hitting their feathers. The warmth of Drake's torso against his was peace, and the beating of both of their hearts in tandem was soothing, calm tranquility... 

"You're right. We're home." 

He swallowed. His mouth suddenly felt dry, and his brain completely forgot how to make words. 

"DW, y-you look… I mean … the… light it's… and your… face. It's  _ good _ . The light, I mean! The light is...good in here. With the shutter open." 

_ Smooth, LP. Real smooth. _

It wasn’t just Launchpad, Drake was looking up at him with admiration. His strong features, the warmth of his arms, the softness of his gaze, the way the sun shone across his feathers... 

"Huh? Oh yeah. The sun. Almost sunset. It's... pretty... pretty great. This place is pretty great. It's great. Amazing."

Launchpad stroked his thumb across the side of Drake's face, admiring it in the sunlight. He blushed, noticing how striking he was: the light catching the heroic angle of the face, highlighting his attractive features, catching the color of his eyes; he couldn’t help but get hopelessly lost in them! Whatever these feelings were...the way his heart wanted to leap out of his chest when he held him like this, the simple comfort and safety in the palm of Drake Mallard's hand, the joy he found in the curve of his bill as he smiled...

Framed by the setting sun, in the privacy of their lair, surrounded by the secret life they were building together, it was entirely possible that there was a chance, _ a very real chance,  _ that these feelings were something more than fanboy nerd appreciation, or professional respect, or even deep friendship.

Launchpad McQuack realized that he _ might _ have a crush on Drake Mallard.

Drake, too, was lost in a flood of his own emotions and thoughts.

_ DW. _ .. it just meant more when Launchpad said it. Like a punch to the gut, knocking the air out of his lungs, leaving him to collapse... into Launchpad’s arms.

He was always there to catch him.

He could fall into his arms over and over and over. 

There was nowhere he'd rather be. 

_ Wow! That was totally cheesy! Who thought like that?  _

_ Drake Mallard, apparently, and his big dumb weird feelings!  _

"Oh! Hey! You painted up here a bunch, right? Do you have any purple and black spray paint? Let's spruce up that cool prototype Fenton gave me, and return the real gas gun to where it belongs!"

After years of crash-piloting, Launchpad knew an escape route when he saw one. 

"Uh, yeah, hold on..." 

Launchpad dug around in a small wooden tool chest near the stairs and returned with cans of midnight purple and semi-gloss black spray paint.

Drake snatched up the cans, shaking the purple vigorously. "This is perfect! We'll paint and seal the prototype in purple with black details, make some....cosmetic adjustments, and then tonight...”

Launchpad interjected, caught in the excitement of an imminent mission. “Oh, I know! Smoke bomb, right? Then... Chaos! Lightning! Drama! The terror that flaps in the night...?”

Drake smirked mysteriously and gave the spray paint another shake. “Not this time! We gotta be sneaky. This is a stealth mission; we deliver the original, all wrapped up like the real Darkwing is returning it to where it belongs! Darkwing Duck, back in action! Let's get crafting!"

Fixing up the gas gun, making it their own, turning in the stolen prop, it really felt like the final piece in a puzzle. 

They could finally close that chapter of their story and start to put the whole incident… Jim… the museum…  _ Negaduck…  _ behind them and move forward.

"Yeah! We are the glitter that hides between the floorboards when you sweep!" Launchpad declared.

Drake needed no further prompting, immediately picking up the declaration. "Yes! We are the paint water you picked up instead of your coffee mug! We are Darkwing Duck!" jumping back down to the living space-like area of the chamber, he rummaged around in the desk until he pulled out some graph paper, and began to draw up plans for the evening. 

"So, tonight! This is what we're going to do..."

~☆~ 

That evening, Darkwing Duck pushed open the same roof hatch of the rotunda at the museum he had the first time. With one hand holding the box that held their precious cargo and the other gripping the rope, Launchpad slowly lowered him into the hall. Security cameras that were still and inactive upon their previous visit now followed him with blinking red eyes. 

"Whoa whoa, right there, stop! This is good!" He called out, just a few feet above the floor.

Launchpad pulled up slightly on the rope, bringing him smoothly to a halt, leaving him dangling in mid-air. 

"Roger, DW! Do your thing!"

"Thanks!"

He reached his feet out in front slowly, then pulled them back, carefully swinging himself until he could catch the edge of a pedestal, pulling himself up with one hand, as he kept the box tucked under his arm.

"Okay, I'm untying myself, you can pull the rope up." 

Once the rope was untied, he let it slip silently from his waist, then inched along the molding of the wall until he reached the gate for the Darkwing exhibit. Sidling along to peer around the corner for guards, he paused dramatically. The coast was clear. He grinned, bounding over the exhibit barrier with ease, making sure to give his cape a little flourish for the security cameras. The floor was cold and sent a little shiver up his spine that he tried to ignore, and his footsteps echoed as he approached the empty display that was meant to house the gas gun prop beside the original Darkwing costume. He unlatched the glass case carefully.

_ Please don't trip an alarm, please don’t trip an alarm, please don’t trip an alarm! _

For an anxious few seconds he was frozen there, and when no loud alarms started blaring, he let out a tiny breath of relief, opening his own box and placing it slightly ajar on top of the pedestal within the case. It was a hat box, wrapped in purple paper, lid and body wrapped separately, left open to reveal the original prop gun. The note on top read:

_ "Jim, You died a hero. Thank you for giving us hope that flaps in the night. Farewell, Darkwing Duck."  _

Closing the lid of the case, he looked up, his own reflection in the glass mirroring the suit on the mannequin beside it. It filled him with an odd sense of both dread and nostalgia. He nodded to it, his own solemn goodbye before he bounded back over to the gate and jumped up onto the pedestal he swung onto earlier. 

"LP, it's been returned. Now, should we do something cool?"

"What sort of something did ya have in mind, DW?"

Darkwing smirked, pulling out the grappling hook, he shot it up and latched it on the edge of the hatch, pulling himself up. Once his escape was secure, he grabbed the rim and tossed the grappling hook onto the roof for Launchpad. Then, hanging onto the inside of the hatch with one hand, he put a rubber ball in the empty chamber of the gas gun,  _ his  _ gas gun, firing it at the obnoxiously big red button. 

When the alarms started blaring, he winked at the surveillance camera and tipped his hat before pulling himself up and shutting the hatch. "Just so they find our returned present. We totally could've done a cool intro, but I don’t think those things record sound?"

The showmanship! The dramatic flair! The danger! The...the  _ Darkwing _ of it all! Launchpad was truly impressed. "Now  _ that  _ was some serious pilot episode material. And I should know! I'm a pilot! Bravo, DW! Very nice execution!" Launchpad would have applauded if his hands weren’t occupied by all of the gear they brought.

"Thanks, it was a lot better than last time we were here, huh? Now let's get scarce before anyone gets up here~" He started, taking his hand as he shot the grappling hook up the side of a taller building so they could swing up and away. "Now we go looking for clues: the trail trouble leaves behind!"

They spent the night together, getting back in the groove of the crime fighting beat. The trails were cold, the perps they caught were minor (a purse-snatcher and a peeping tom) but it still felt great to just be out, patrolling the city, side by side. 

Launchpad made a mental note to thank Webby profusely for the grappling hook; it came in handy on more than one occasion, and it was only their first night out! By the time they climbed the stairs back to the apartment after a long night of smoke bombs, puns, and partially successful foot chases, Launchpad was exhausted but very happy. He barely had the energy to get ready for bed before collapsing into a heap on top of the blanket, too tired to even have a nightmare...but not too tired to reach out for Drake's hand anyway.

And that was a good thing, because Drake was happy to take it. 

~☆~ 

The next morning Drake awoke feeling rested and better than he had in a long time. Maybe this was the closure he had wanted so desperately when it came to Jim. It had indeed been an actual chance to say goodbye to his hero, but he was over hero worship anyway. Their usual breakfast of cereal and coffee (LP liked to put his together) was punctuated by the news playing in the background as Drake took inventory of the posters he was planning to sell. 

_ “Who IS that cunning mind behind the shadowy disguise? Last Night, an allegedly stolen exhibit piece was returned to the St. Canard Art & History Museum by an unlikely helper. Security footage shows a duck dressed as early 90s TV show character ‘Darkwing Duck’ returning an item that was reportedly stolen a month ago by an unknown assailant. The item was returned with a heartfelt fan note in tribute to the deceased actor, Jim Starling, who played the fictional superhero from 1991 to 1993. The note reads ‘Jim, you died a hero. Thank you for giving us hope that flaps in the night. Farewell, Darkwing Duck.’ Farewell Darkwing Duck, indeed. St. Canardian fans of the show can view the exhibit next month, when it is scheduled to reopen for a brief run after investigation. Coming up next, there’s a new toy fad in town, but is it deadly? Chompy Bear, the teddy bear you can feed, is hot on the shelves, and could be the next Tickle-Me Mickey, but reports say that Chompy may not be safe for kids! Stay tuned!”  _

Drake was grinning ear to ear. 

“Yes! That security camera got my good side!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for being patient with us and our delays between updates! My favorite villain FINALLY gets to play next episode, hope you stay tuned! ~ Mur
> 
> DRAKEPAD OOGA BOOGA ~ Rai


	9. Let's Get A Playmate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning - this chapter contains: mentions/discussions of police brutality, and cartoon violence/comic mischief, touching unsanitary objects (garbage), a toy gun, and teeth/biting which is done by an animatronic/living toy.

A sense of relief washed over Launchpad as he watched the news report about their successful reverse-heist, and it only deepened as he saw the satisfaction on Drake's face. For weeks he worried as he watched a jacob’s ladder of images unfold before his eyes; Drake on the floor in the hideout, face under a pizza box; Drake unconscious in the hospital bed; Drake frustrated, pacing the house, grumbling about Gizmoduck protecting the city… 

As each day passed and Drake’s physical wounds healed, the nagging dread that Negaduck damaged something more vital than internal organs or broken ribs haunted him. His lingering fear was that Negaduck had fractured Drake's _hope_ , and it would take longer than four measly weeks to mend.

But seeing the grin on his face now—high on the taste of a successful mission after returning the stolen prop, having finally bested the thief that had put him out of commission for so long—he knew he didn't need to worry. Darkwing Duck was back, and better than ever. 

Taking a sip of his coffee, Launchpad nearly choked on a marshmallow, coughed a few times, then cleared his throat and gestured at the TV. 

"Hey, DW, what do you make of that Chompy Bear toy? Pretty creepy, huh?"

“Well, I can’t judge kids who like it; I was a kid when pogs were cool. If it’s popular, I bet we’ll see plenty of boxes for them in the trash the next few weeks.” Washing out his cup and the pot for the coffee maker, he was glad that they could finally put Jim behind them. As far as the media was concerned at least, Jim Starling was still dead, and no one had even heard of Negaduck except the two of them. If he had it his way, that’s exactly how it would stay; he had a feeling the last thing they wanted to do was feed into the specific flavor of toxic, rage-fueled ego that Jim carried...

"Speakin' of trash, are we cleaning up the city today?" Launchpad smirked, finished off his coffee-cereal more carefully, then brought his cup over to the sink. "Maybe after we could go by the hideout? I was thinking about setting up some targets out there for testing the new gas gun out, if you think we could do it without, uh...drawing too much attention…" 

“I think so? The riverbed isn’t going to get any better, nor are our routes, unless we actually pick up all that trash ourselves.” It was just another piece of training for Drake Mallard. “And we can always train amongst the trash, you know? I actually wanted to test those new formulas Fenton gave me too.”

"Hey, yeah! I mean, there's plenty of material to work with out there...and I don't think we've run into another living creature since we found that place, besides a few bugs and vermin. I think whoever is dumping must be coming by at night…" Launchpad tilted his head, a puzzling question forming in his mind. "Is illegal trash dumping something you call DW for when it's helping to pay DW's bills…?" 

“Maybe, but at least we’re there to pick up the trash?” There was a moment where he sighed, clearly thinking to himself. “I mean I wouldn’t trust the police to deal with illegal trash-dumpers here anyway. That’s the kind of thing I’d rather...well… you’re new to this city, right, LP? There’s a reason when we caught Megavolt we just tied him up and dropped him near the police station. I mean. What’s Darkwing Duck going to do? Spook them? But eh, don’t worry about it. Let’s get ready to go.”

They made good time on their typical routine, nowhere near their usual but better than the day before. Still, as they went about their work, LP found his thoughts drifting to what Drake said about the police. It was true that St. Canard had a real problem with crime, and despite the police sirens that were almost omnipresent in the city, the crime rate never seemed to go down. It hadn't really occurred to Launchpad to wonder why that was before, but Drake appeared to have some sort of understanding about the city and what was going on in its underbelly that he lacked. He poked at a pile of moldy food wrappers, skewering them and tossing them into a bag to be hauled back to the truck. 

"Hey, DW...you always say the police here in St. Canard are more trouble than they're worth. What exactly do you mean by that anyway? I mean...are they just really bad at their jobs? This place is… gee, they really seem to need someone like Darkwing here, ya know?" 

“That’s the thing...I guess. As much as I love him, in a perfect world, Darkwing Duck wouldn’t need to exist,” Drake grumbled as he used his gloved hand to sweep a bunch of broken bottles and crushed cans into a trash bag before tossing it into the truck. 

A complex look crossed Drake’s face as he continued. “It’s not that they’re bad at their jobs. It’s that… they use their jobs to get whatever they want and do whatever they want. That’s just how the system works. If you’re rich, you can do whatever you want in this city. Or if you know the right people.”

He scoffed. “Isn’t that stupid? What’s really stupid isn’t even the crime itself. I’ll give you an example. A few months ago, somebody broke into Mrs. Logan’s apartment down the hall. They took her TV, right? Okay, so somebody breaks in, steals stuff. She calls the cops, they show up, take some notes, claim to ‘search’ the place, making a huge mess, and her pearls go missing. And she got lucky. Sometimes they show up, trash your place, shoot your neighbor’s dog, and slap you with a fine for having a broken window.” 

He kicked a broken lamp before tossing it in his trash bag. “What I’m saying is they don’t work for the city. Well, maybe they work for the people who run the city, but not the people in the city itself. They’re not public servants. They work for themselves.”

"Wow...that's terrible…" There was a pause, a moment of heavy silence as Launchpad processed everything Drake said, letting it sink in. "...that's _really_ terrible! It's...it's…" 

Something Drake said gave him pause, though. _If you're rich, you can do whatever you want in this city…_

Wasn't it the same in Duckburg? How many times had he heard the phrase _‘McDuck Enterprises will pay for all damages’_ after one of their adventures? How many homes and businesses were destroyed by their adventuring fiascos? But Mr. McDee was a hero, a famed adventurer. He donated millions to the city, the mayor even thanked him personally on several occasions… 

Now Flintheart Glomgold, that was another matter, but even so, he never managed to stay in trouble for very long. It seemed enough money really did make any crime, any damage disappear. At the end of the day, Scrooge’s greed was the one thing that blinded him to the true cost of adventure. As his pilot and driver, Launchpad McQuack had all the respect in the world for Mr. McDee, but thinking about the corporate collateral damage really put things in perspective, especially in a place like St. Canard. 

For some reason, this made Launchpad feel a bit sick, more than all the trash in the world could. "It's disgusting." he finished, frowning at Drake. "No wonder this city is so desperate for a hero…." 

"I don't know if they're _desperate_ for a hero. I think mostly they just want peace." Drake tossed an empty plastic soda bottle up in the air, hitting it back towards the truck using the handle of a broken broom as a baseball bat. It made a hollow echoing sound as it landed and bounced along, landing in a heap of discarded trash bags. "Like I said. In a perfect world we wouldn't need Darkwing Duck. If he could truly save the city, he could hang up the cape." 

He grabbed another bottle, blanching that it was half-full of putrid, plastic-y flat soda, and dumped it out on the ground before hitting that one back towards the truck as well. 

"So we supposedly put two so-called supervillains in prison. That's a drop in the bucket, and since we stopped them from doing more damage than they could have, they're not actually guilty of all that much. They'll be out soon enough. I want to be optimistic, but... I don't want to wait for them to wreck the city before stopping them. Best we can do is try to make a difference that citizens can see. A splash. Put Darkwing duck on your feed, in the news, give people some good to believe in. So they can fight back too."

"Make the criminals think twice before they even commit the crimes? Take away the source of the terror, and maybe you really _can_ be the hope that flaps in the night." Launchpad thought about it, pulling a few more crusty two liter bottles out of a pile of junk and handing them to Drake. He looked like he could use the release. "That's smart, DW. It's like...getting dangerous so they won't _want_ to get dangerous." Launchpad reached back down to pick up another bottle without really paying attention, and something bit down hard on his hand. He yelped, pulling it back and prying a broken Chompy Bear toy off of his fingers. 

"Yeowch! Now these things really _are_ dangerous! Talk about biting the hand that feeds you..." 

A whole pile of broken Chompy Bear toys lay discarded, hidden beneath the junk Launchpad was digging around in, the thin veneer of candy wrappers and fast food trash obscuring the dangerous toys lurking just under the surface. They were all destroyed or broken in some capacity. The scene before them resembled some kind of grisly playroom battlefield with brightly-colored stuffing peeking out of holes where the poorly-stitched seams had come loose, heads bent into disfigured shapes, sharp teeth missing and askew and so many pieces of fallen Chompy Bears piled together that it was hard to tell which parts belonged to which toy. A couple even appeared to have been gutted, their chests splayed and emptied, the internal electronic parts evidently torn out entirely. "Jeez, I guess they really aren't safe for kids of _any_ age...who would make something like this, anyway?" Launchpad eyed the sharp teeth on the bear with suspicion, holding it at arms' length gingerly.

Drake stopped swinging, turning his attention to the pile of discarded toys. "They're all pretty destroyed too, huh? No batteries, in pieces..." He separated the pile with the broom handle, squinting at the mess. 

He reached down and picked up a handful of the odd, shredded technicolor padding that was poking out of one of the bears. It looked strangely familiar. It was reminiscent of very unsafe, very childish fun from the early 90s. Drake recognized it instantly. "Huh, and they're stuffed with that weird day-glo foam material they used to use at Fun Raiders… I haven't seen that stuff in years. Still smells the same too, even in all this trash."

Launchpad tossed the broken bear back into the pile, pointing out one near the top of the pile that was in noticeably better condition than the others; it was mostly intact, just missing an eye and some stuffing. 

"Hey DW, that one’s in pretty good shape! Do you think we ought to take it back to the hideout and look into it? Maybe there's some kind of tag or something on them...I've got a bad feeling about these things, and not just in my fingers..." Launchpad rubbed his sore hand and took an uneasy step back from the pile, eyeing them cautiously. "I'd hate to see some kid get hurt, if they do this much damage broken and thrown away..."

Drake looked closer, hooking the broom handle into its mouth, he picked it up. 

"Weird... super popular new toy, and there's already a bunch of them in the trash. And they're all destroyed in one way or another... why...? Either they’re really crappily made, or something’s totally up! You're right, LP! Let's get investigating!”

They gathered up their tools and carried the nasty little toy up to the hideout for further inspection. After all, careful sleuthing and vigilant detective work were hallmarks of any good Darkwing Duck story, and they were living out their own plots now!

Upon placing it on the table, Drake pulled the lamp over it, turning the toy over. It was an ordinary teddy bear save for its cartoonishly large mouth. It sported a playfully pied bluish-purple and red mismatched set of limbs and an inner plastic casing with a zipper in the back, Drake surmised for getting out whatever items or toys you "fed" to the bear. It was indeed filled with a squishy sort of colorful, shredded play-gym safety foam. Just the look of it brought back very specific childhood memories to Drake's mind, most of them negative. 

"It totally _is_ stuffed with the foam they used at Fun Raiders! It was this run down play-place that used this foam as padding in the mats, the climbable walls, basically everything. They went out of business forever ago though. I thought it got bought out by a chain like Funzo's or something, but they never renovated it…” He stopped short, squinting closer at the bear in disbelief. “Hold on... what's this...? Oh....oh no way! LP! Look at this!" 

Launchpad came over, his hand freshly bandaged and carrying several tools, including an oversized magnifying glass, which he handed to Drake. "What'd ya find in that thing's stuffing, DW?" He peered at it, not wanting to get too close. "Oh, what?! Is that...?" There wasn't a tag like Launchpad thought there might be, but inside the bear's body, stamped on the plastic casing, was a familiar symbol.

"Unless I'm going crazy, it totally is! It's Quackerjack's logo...?" Drake wasn’t sure if he should be excited or horrified. What could it possibly mean?

"Quackerjack...like... _Quackerjack_ Quackerjack? Like the actual, insane toymaker clown Czar of Crime Quackerjack? _That_ Quackerjack?" Launchpad jumped up and down in place a couple times, visibly thrilled. The tools dropped suddenly from his arms with a crash and clang as he grabbed the Chompy Bear off the table in his excitement. He peered closely at the logo, his previous uneasiness completely forgotten for a moment. "He's REAL?!"

"No way, like I know that logo anywhere! Maybe it's supposed to be an easter egg? There's no way... hey, look up what happened to Fun Raiders, is there anything new at that address...?"

Tossing the bear back down on the table, Launchpad pulled out his phone to look it up. "Oh, let's see...Fun Raiders..." 

As he did, the jolt seemed to activate something inside the toy, and it twitched once, twice, then sat up slowly, looking around with a loud whirring, grinding noise as it turned its head. 

The reanimated Chompy Bear peered at Drake with its one eye, then opened its mouth with a noise not unlike the slow _CLACK... CLACK... CLACK_ of a roller coaster heading for the very top of a long drop. It paused, its enormous, gaping maw poised open like a spring trap, then took a bite out of the table, leaving a perfect, cartoonish teddy-bear-sized bite mark behind. 

Launchpad stared at it in horror for a second, then let out a war cry and picked up a chair, raising it above his head. "Kill it! Kill it before we become a teddy bear picnic!"

Drake grabbed the lamp off of the table, swinging it at the bear, knocking it back across the floor. "They weren't joking with the name Chompy!" In a matter of seconds it was already twitching back to...life? Animation? Whatever it was, it was moving again. "LP! Do we have something it can't bite through, like a bike chain?"

Putting the chair down, Launchpad scrambled over to the tool chest, digging through it for a second before pulling out a bungee cord, a hand full of zip ties, an old, rusty motorcycle chain that he pulled out of the trash, and a roll of decorative green floral wire. He shrugged apologetically and shoved all of it into Drake's hands. 

"This is all I could find..." 

The Chompy Bear was already on its awkward, fuzzy feet again and wobbling slowly toward them. Launchpad shivered. 

"How is it even moving? It doesn't have batteries or anything, right?"

Drake blinked at it for a moment, then wrapped the chain around his hand, holding the bungee in his free hand, he held the chain-hand out to the bear. 

"Ohhhh... this is gonna hurt. Here, Chompy, Chompy, you want to chew on this...?" Drake cooed at it, as though he was beckoning a cat or other small animal into his hands. Of course, it needed no second bidding to bite down on his outstretched hand, and Drake held back a scream. 

"YEOwch!! Okay, good, okay, okay...." 

He wrapped the bungee around its head with his free hand, its mouth forcibly held open by the thickness of the chain, and pulled it taut, almost like a makeshift gag that held the enormous maw open, rendering it relatively harmless. 

"I'm not part of a balanced breakfast, so you can quit chowing down on me!" Drake grumbled as he wrenched his hand free. "We better investigate where this unbearable bear came from..."

The bear pawed uselessly at its mouth for a moment with its short, cute limbs, then tumbled backwards against the wall and fell onto its backside, sulking. It crossed its mismatched arms and seemed to be pouting, its version of 'fun' ruined. Launchpad grabbed the first aid kit, bringing it over and inspecting Drake's hand, concerned. 

"Aw, it got you pretty good, DW! Sorry I couldn't find something better to stick in there. Wish we had some rebar or something...that would've done the trick..."

"Well, it worked, I guess?" Drake shrugged. "Hey there mister evil....Six-Nights-at-Sammy's-looking monster thing, do you understand English?"

The Chompy Bear just glared at him, as much as a toy _could_ glare with one soulless unblinking doll eye, then looked pointedly away. It clearly had no interest in cooperating with the duck that spoiled play time.

He rolled his eyes, and glanced at Launchpad. "You got any ideas for diplomacy with this sentient bear trap?"

Launchpad looked at the sulking little horror toy, then an idea popped into his head. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, tapping away on it and pulling up something on the internet. He flashed it at Drake with a grin briefly: a picture of Quackerjack, a still from the classic Darkwing Duck TV show. He knelt down and turned his phone toward the Chompy Bear, pointing at the picture and offering it a little smile. 

"Hey there little guy...do you know this duck? Maybe he can fix you up, huh? Make you good as new?" The bear uncrossed its arms, then stood up, wobbling a bit, taking several steps forward. It reached a paw out slowly, clearly recognizing the picture, then suddenly tried to snatch the phone out of Launchpad's hand. He reeled back, holding the phone close to his chest and pushing the Chompy Bear back with his foot, but he was grinning madly and laughing. 

"Ha! I knew it! It totally recognized him! Quackerjack _must_ be real! How cool is that?!"

"No way..." Drake looked from Launchpad, to the toy, back to Launchpad, a combination of disbelief and excitement crossing his features. "No way! For real? Well, this sounds like a job for Darkwing Duck!"

"Yeah?! Really? We're gonna meet... er... fight... er... apprehend... Quackerjack?!" He jumped up, fist-pumping with both hands. "Yes!! Oh..." He looked down at the Chompy Bear, who was kicking feebly at his leg. "What about this little guy? We can't exactly leave him in the hideout unsupervised..."

"Well... I think stopping him from making more monstrosities will be the real goal here. But I do think we shouldn't try to break in until after dark... Darkwing Duck works best under the cover of night," he scurried around the lair, and began packing up the usual kit of supplies. "You know, LP, we should have a whole second set of tools for you. Then we don't have to pass them around all the time during capers." He cleared his throat, tossing the bag over his shoulder. 

Launchpad pulled some rope out and tied up the Chompy Bear, then picked it up. "Huh, it's kind of cute when it's harmless, isn't it?" 

The bear did not seem pleased; though it couldn’t make any facial expressions, it lay there in Launchpad’s grip, somehow still giving off ominous vibes of general displeasure. Launchpad got the distinct sense that if the little toy bear could free itself and bring him harm simply by wishing, it would gleefully do so with a broad, toothy smile. The thought sent another shiver down his spine, and he was careful to make sure the bear was tightly secured as they left. 

Bringing the bear with them, the bite-sized hellion seemed to lose energy soon after being incapacitated, growing bored, going still, and resembling any normal teddy bear. Launchpad set it on the seat of the truck as they wrapped up business, eyeing it nervously as they finished dropping off the trash and headed back to the apartment to clean up and get ready for the night.

To his immense relief, it didn’t stir again until well after sunset.

~☆~ 

Darkwing Duck took a long breath in and out, following the directions to where the old Fun Raiders used to be. Now the area was just a series of mostly abandoned warehouses, and they all looked pretty much the same. He placed the squirming bear down on the pavement. 

"Hey Chompy, it'll be playtime once you run home~" He sing-songed.

The Chompy Bear looked around for a moment, then tottered off eagerly, slipping into the shadows behind one of the identical buildings. Launchpad shined a flashlight after it, keeping the light trained on it. "That way! It's surprisingly quick for having such stubby little legs!"

Drake rushed after it, already readying a smoke bomb, holding it between his fingers as he ran. "You can’t escape us, you malicious mechanical menace!"

The bear wove between the shadows, dipping through alleys behind the maze of warehouses before stopping in front of a broken vent. It grabbed the bent grate with its paws and yanked, throwing its small body backwards with as much force as it could muster, until the grate popped off with a clatter. Before either of them could grab it, the Chompy Bear shimmied into the tiny vent and vanished into the bowels of the warehouse. Launchpad shined the flashlight into the darkness after it and sighed. 

"Well, at least we know which building to search..."

“All right, the only windows are pretty high up and it knows we’re out here, which means anybody inside will know as soon as they find our little fuzzy buddy. Still…gotta make an entrance, right?” 

~☆~

It was time for Darkwing Duck to infiltrate what he believed to be the lair of one of his most famous rivals; Quackerjack. He tried to hold his excitement in, throwing a thumbs up towards his faithful partner as he crept over to the loading dock. As he climbed up onto the bay door platform, he took a long breath, and let it out slowly, preparing himself. 

_Let’s do this._

He unlatched the door, pulling the handle up and throwing the door upwards and open with some effort. It creaked and protested squeaking and grinding to a halt; he had hoped it would open far enough for a big entrance, but he would have to deal with the two-foot-high gap it left instead. The space was large enough for him to barely roll under, and he released the smoke bomb he was holding between his index and middle finger. This gave him a few seconds, just enough time to awkwardly roll inside and gather up his cape in the cloud. 

Well, the hero’s entrance really was more _art_ than science. 

He cleared his throat quietly, preparing to project his voice properly, ready to strike fear into the heart of any ne’er-do-well ( _Quackerjack! Ahhhhh! Keep it together, Drake!_ ) that might be lurking in this purulent pit of potential crime...

“I am the terror that flaps in the night! I am the twisty tie in the environmentally-unfriendly packaging even your scissors can’t break! I am Darkwing Duck!”

The interior of the warehouse was dimly lit for the most part, save a single table in the center of the room, over which a bright lamp shone. Old, dilapidated play structures loomed in the deeper parts of the building, made strange and monstrous by the twisting shadows. All manner of odd, misshapen, and off-putting toys were stacked haphazardly around the room in seemingly random piles and strewn about willy-nilly on shelves. Several of them appeared to be half-finished or in various states of disrepair.

There, standing in front of the table with his back to the hero, was a tall duck dressed in a clownish blue and red jester costume. He waved a hand impatiently in Darkwing’s direction without turning around, his attention focused on the task in front of him; he was repairing the damaged Chompy Bear that lay on the table, yanking the chain out of the poor toy's mouth. 

"Yes, yes, whatever. Go away. I can't play with you right now! I've got to fix this... ugh... Chompy Bear… some idiot shoved a chain in its... wait a second! You…!" 

The clown-duck froze in place, stopping himself mid-sentence, he turned and squinted at Darkwing, the bells on his hat jingling as he tilted his head and made a vague pointing gesture toward Darkwing. 

"Can you...do that whole thing again?" 

Darkwing was pretty sure his brain stopped functioning in its entirety in that moment. 

_Oh my god this was real._

_OH MY GOD THIS IS REAL._

Drake stood there for a few seconds, dumbfounded. He recognized him. He knew him anywhere. Well, not _recognized_ him as someone he had met before, but…

...this was undeniably, absolutely, completely, one-hundred-percent the duck he thought it was. 

“What, the... the intro..? Uh..y-yeah.. .yeah… hold on a second.” 

A blank stare was on his face as he walked over to the service door next to the bay door, opened it, and stepped outside, turning back to Launchpad, who was waiting patiently (though admittedly a bit over-eagerly) for his signal to rush in. 

“LP! It’s REALLY him! It’s Quackerjack! You were right! He’s really real! Oh my god! Ohmygosh ohmyGOSH! Okay. Okay, okay, okay, okay, okay. Keep it together. One more time.” 

Adjusting his hat quickly, Darkwing pulled out another smoke bomb. Rolling it under the bay door, he repeated the entrance with a large flourish of his cape. 

“I am the terror that flaps in the night! I am the utility-strength zip tie you can’t fit your scissors under! I am Darkwing Duck!”

Quackerjack—for of course, that's exactly who he was—was waiting eagerly for Drake's repeat performance, the repaired Chompy Bear in one hand and a strange, misshapen doll shaped like a banana in the other. He held the banana doll close by his face as though he were listening to it whisper something into his ear as he watched Drake enter. Seeing the smoke, the theatrics, the flourish of his cape, Quackerjack's eyes lit up. 

"It is you! It really is!! See Mr. Bananabrain?! I _told_ you he was real! Darkwing Duck, in the feathers!"

He began jumping around the warehouse in excitement, laughing gleefully, and he was surprisingly spry and athletic, considering he did those backflips and cartwheels at that sort of speed with no discernible super powers.

"Ha! Ha ha! My very own play mate! Do you know what this means…?" 

He did several front flips, landing just inches from Darkwing's face. He grinned broadly, overjoyed, and clearly more than a little unhinged. 

"That's right, Dorkwing! It's _playtime_!" He thrust the Chompy Bear into Darkwing's arms. Of course, the toy had in no way forgiven him for shoving a chain in its mouth, and it intended to make its frustration very clear. Quackerjack somersaulted away, giggling."Oh, won't this be _fun_?!"

The toy bit down hard on Darkwing’s bill, and he scrambled to pull it off, yanking at it with almost comical elasticity before he was able to dislodge it, holding the offending toy at arm’s length so its tiny arms and legs could flail wildly in the air. 

_Quackerjack’s real and he just threw an attack toy at me! Oh my gosh!!_ He thought to himself, trying to contain his excitement.

He had action figures of this guy. He had definitely had a non zero number of daydreams about facing off with armies of weird death toys.

This totally qualified as a weird death toy. 

“Ohmygosh LP! Do you see this?” 

But Launchpad wasn’t behind him. Well, maybe that was for the better? It was probably safer out there, _AWAY_ from all the crazy death toys and the cartoon jester duck brought to life. “I’m still —what. How is— this doesn’t make any sense? You’re REAL? YOU’RE REALLY _REAL_?” 

"What do you mean _I'm_ real? _You're_ real?! Darkwing Duck? The terror that flaps in the night? Playful banter and puns and witty one-liners and all? Oh, ohhh, do another one! Do another one!" Quackerjack put Mr. Bananabrain on his shoulder and laced his fingers together in a pleading gesture. 

"Come on, do the thing with the cape!" 

It was clear that the toymaker was having the time of his life. He was very excited to finally have something other than broken toys to play with.

Meanwhile, just outside, Launchpad had gotten into his own bit of trouble.

Or bite of trouble, as it were. 

"Now, now, easy there... nice uh... teeth…? Gee, I didn't realize toymakers had such good dental plans…yipe!" 

He was surrounded by a half dozen or so wind-up chattering teeth, and they were menacing him closer and closer to the wall. One had already gotten brave and snapped at him, but he couldn't open the bay door any further or slip beneath it without turning his back on them. He wasn't exactly eager to do that. Pressing his back against the wall, something pressed into his spine, and he realized it was the handle to the service door that Drake used to come back out for his second big entrance. 

He had completely forgotten about it.

Flinging it open, he threw himself in and slammed it shut just as the teeth lunged, shutting them out with a thud, all except the brave one, which had lunged early and snapped onto the hem of his jacket. He pried it off and gave Drake a wry smile and a shrug. 

"I guess we know where those Chompy Bears learned how to bite, huh, DW?!" 

He caught sight of Quackerjack and his eyes widened. Turning back to Darkwing, he pointed and mouthed: _Oh my gosh is that him?_! 

Darkwing nodded, mouthing back: _I KNOW, RIGHT?_

Being in the center of the room felt...pretty unsafe though, all things considered. Darkwing Duck could see the shelves upon shelves of half-finished rejects from the island of forgotten toys, as well as the unruly piles of misshapen play-things and broken, still-twitching parts, and definitely felt like he could be surrounded awfully fast. He grabbed the grappling hook, shooting it up to the dilapidated play structure, swinging up onto the second level, then tossed his cape dramatically. 

“Enough troublesome toys, you trickster toymaker! So it’s you, terrorizing the town’s toddlers! Though frankly, I would really put ages 8 and up on a box like that… eh. Collectors love horror toys— what am I saying? Anyways!” He cleared his throat, gathering himself, unsettled by the way the old structure creaked under his feet. “It’s time to topple your tower of terror!”

Quackerjack seemed to settle into a pout for a brief moment, then took the doll off of his shoulder and held it up, speaking for it in an odd voice. 

"You take that back, Jack!" 

The toymaker stamped his foot hard, and the already-unstable play structure wobbled a bit. 

"Mr. Bananabrain is right! You're not being any fun, you spoilsport! No fair!" 

“Evil doesn’t play fair, why should I?” He shot back, grabbing onto some of the mesh that lined the play structure to steady himself.

 _Okay, Drake, think! Darkwing Duck has beaten Quackerjack plenty of times! Just stop the toys and he’ll be out of business! But how?_ The show always had some zany shenanigans leading up to it. 

Quackerjack looked utterly offended. He put his hands on his hips dramatically. 

"Evil?! I am NOT evil! How rude! I bring joy to children everywhere! Evil...you know, that's awfully rich coming from someone calling himself the _terror_ that flaps in the night!" 

Launchpad couldn't help himself. It was Quackerjack! What was he supposed to do? Not pull out his phone and take a quick picture for their hideout wall? Fortunately, the picture came out great. Unfortunately, he forgot to turn the flash of his phone’s camera off, and immediately drew Quackerjack's attention. With Darkwing Duck out of reach, the toymaker was growing bored with him. But Launchpad was a much easier target to play with. He grinned and pulled a rubber chicken off the shelf. 

"Hey there, mister! You look like a big tough guy! Wanna play a game of _chicken_? Ha!" 

Launchpad had to stop himself from asking for his autograph. This was serious!

A plan was slowly beginning to form in Darkwing’s head, and he buried his fingers farther in the mesh, pulling himself up, he began to climb the play tower. His brain was still internally having a fanboy fit, but he shook his head, trying to remind himself why he was here. He shot the grappling hook up to the rafters above where Launchpad was, quickly switching hands to the gas gun. If only it had the capability to do both. He’d have to ask Fenton about that later. 

“Aw, come on, Quackerjack! Calling _me_ the spoilsport? Weren’t you the one who was excited I was real?” He taunted, switching to the itch gas as he hoisted himself all the way up, wrapping the rope around his other hand.

 _If this works, it’ll be super cool!_ He thought to himself. 

Quackerjack glanced up, cocked his head, then threw the rubber chicken aside. It exploded, knocking over one of the shelves and scattering doll parts across the floor. He pulled out a toy gun instead, pointing it up at Darkwing Duck. 

"Ohhhh, this is more like it! Are we gonna play cops and robbers? I'll be the good guy, and you be the cop! This is a hold up! Bang bang!" 

The gun went off with a BANG!....literally! A little white flag with the word _BANG!_ came out of the tip along with a flash of brightly colored confetti and smoke, and Quackerjack grinned up at him. 

"Now you go!"

“Wha—didn’t you ever watch the show? I’m not going to play along with your plans! I’m supposed to foil them, you capricious clown!” He countered. He wanted to follow up with questions— with— _no! That wasn’t how this worked! Focus, DW! Stick to defeating the villain, not getting excited that he’s there! The goal is to STOP HIM!_

Quackerjack frowned, then pointed the gun at Launchpad's face instead.

"I guess I could play firing squad instead...but it's not nearly as much fun…" He sounded disappointed, but shrugged. "Oh well…" 

Launchpad put his hands up, glancing nervously up at Drake. 

"Uh...DW…?"

Pulling himself up, Darkwing swung down, firing the gas gun over Quackerjack’s head as he swung by. 

“Suck gas, evildoer!”

Letting go as reached the floor, he skidded back a few feet after he landed, _almost_ sticking the landing. He put one hand down on the floor to brace himself as he slid back past Launchpad, sliding to a stop just a few feet behind him. Overall, he’d give himself an 8. Decent landing. Looked cool. Would’ve been better if he had landed perfectly next to or in front of LP. On the bright side, yes! This was so cool! He always wanted to use that line! He grinned at Launchpad. 

“Was that cool? It felt cool! Oh, what a rush!”

Launchpad didn't even reply before he swept him up in a hug that was equal parts relief at being rescued and impressed fanboy awe. "You were really cool, DW." 

However, Quackerjack was squinting at them through the gas that was slowly spreading around his head. 

"Hey! Who are you calling _evildoer_ ?! I told you I'm not..not..ah ha...ah ha ha...oh...oh is this...?" He doubled over, holding his sides and giggling. "Ah ha ha haaa...oh, Darkwing, you _DO_ care! Ah ha ha...laughing gas! I _love_ this stuff! Ha ha haaa…" Quackerjack, The Mad Toymaker, The Clown Czar of Crime, The Jester of Disaster himself, was practically crying with laughter and sank to his knees, the gas taking full effect as he continued cackling and chuckling like a madman. 

“Laughing gas?” Darkwing frowned, turning the gas gun over in his hand. 

“I was sure I used the yellow…” He groaned, realizing he hadn’t been able to see the colors in the dark, and had picked the wrong chamber, switching it, he stepped in front of Launchpad, holding it up again. 

“Fine, let’s get an encore! You know all play is-um,” He cleared his throat. “Playtime’s over! Ha, yeah, that one’s better.” 

The toymaker leaned up on one hand, gasping through his laughter, the other hand still clenched around his ribs as he lay curled on the ground. 

"What...ha ha...is that...ah ha ha...supposed to mean…?"

The puff of smoke was indeed the right one this time, a yellow cloud of itchy powder, and Darkwing grabbed Launchpad’s hand instinctively, getting ready to run. 

“Hey Chompy! Looks like it’s tickle time!” He pointed to Quackerjack, goading the mechanical toy. “He wants to play!” 

Quackerjack, too overcome by both laughter and itchiness to protest properly, only got out a single phrase before they fled: 

"No fair!" 

But his screams echoed behind them as the whole stock of Chompy Bears advanced on him, and the entire line of Chompy Bear toys disappeared completely from toy store shelves practically overnight afterwards.

Quackerjack, it seemed, had bitten off more than he could chew. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting this chapter a little early because I had a bad day and wanted SOMETHING nice to be in today. Quackerjack is my FAVORITE DW villain, so I was really hyped for his debut chapter! Next episode our heroes get all washed up! Thank you so, SO much for reading as always, it means so much to us that you're reading our fic! ~ Mur 
> 
> I hope you had as much FUN reading this chapter as we had writing it, Quackerjack is a laugh riot! Make sure to bring your ponchos next chapter, the first three rows are a _splash zone._ ~ Rai


	10. Let's Get Liquidated

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning - this chapter contains: Swallowing chemical water, drowning scare (? not sure what to call this warning?)

The next few days were uneventful for the most part, aside from the fact that the sheer number of Chompy Bears in the trash made trash collecting a dangerous job. 

Dangerous, but it also made for better training. 

Drake still slept better the next few nights, despite the fact that they hadn’t locked Quackerjack up. Somehow he felt like whatever damage the troublesome toymaker could do was manageable. Turning his own creations on him would be enough to keep him occupied for a while. It was extra satisfying when the TV reports about Chompy Bears plummeting in sales were followed with a memo about less child injuries had been reported recently. In other news (quite literally _),_ another _viscous_ villain vanished from Duckburg and was leaving a damp trail of crimes in his wake. It seemed that even the _oh-so-confident_ Gizmoduck wasn’t able to track him down, and was sending out a call to action, asking all nearby heroes and citizens alike to stay vigilant…

_Ha. Stupid Gizmoduck. Shows what he knows... Darkwing Duck is ever-vigilant!_

Drake was packing up some boxes of Jim Starling merch he sold earlier in the week when the interview came on TV. A reporter stood next to Gizmoduck, holding up her microphone. 

_“Yes, it looks like the villain known as Liquidator has vanished. We here at Gearloose labs have developed a special unit that can safely contain him, but until he appears again, I advise that the citizens of nearby cities stay on alert, and contact the tipline if he is spotted. He is incredibly dangerous, and not to be dealt with by ordinary citizens for their own safety.”_

_“You heard it here folks from Duckburg’s very own hero, Gizmoduck! Anyone with any information is advised to call the tipline or contact Duckburg police. Back to you in the studio.”_

Drake rolled his eyes as he taped up a shipping label. This was totally what he meant when he said he was better than Gizmoduck. Sure, his villains were… at large, but at least they weren’t threatening nearby cities.

Launchpad pulled a small framed picture out of his jacket and leaned back on the couch, admiring it. He chuckled softly then offered it to Drake with a broad grin. "What do you think, DW? I had it printed today. The guy at the print shop said it was a heck of a photo shoot…" 

There, captured neatly in a 5x7” frame, was Quackerjack, highlighted dramatically by the flash of the phone, the toys lingering creepily behind him in the dim lighting of the warehouse.

"I figured we could add it to our collection, at the hideout, you know…" 

_Our collection. Our legacy._ Launchpad liked the way it sounded, even before he said it. 

"...our legacy."

Drake lit up upon seeing it, taking it for inspection. 

“Whoa, LP! This picture actually came out? This is awesome! I still can’t believe it was really happening. We should totally put it up in the hideout! We could make a villains wall! Line up pictures of all of our villains, and try to keep track of them! That way, we can be prepared for them the next time they pop up! But wow… that whole encounter didn’t even feel real!”

Launchpad leaned his head back against the couch, staring up at the ceiling for a minute, he put a hand against his forehead. "I know! It was really him, wasn't it? That was wild! The _actual_ Quackerjack… and we fought him for real and didn't get our butts totally kicked!" He grinned at Drake. "How cool is that?!"

"Amazing! I-I-I'm still reeling that it was real! That _he_ was real. And we experienced that! Together! I mean! LP! We really are living our dream!" He put his arms around Launchpad, hugging him excitedly.

That feeling fluttered inside of Launchpad again, that something-more-than-crime-fighting-partners feeling that made a blush creep up onto his cheek feathers. He wasn't prepared for the hug, but in no way did that mean that he didn't want it. In fact, he leaned into it, wrapping his arms around Drake and pulling him close, savoring the moment. "It's all...real, isn't it, DW? This? Us...? Darkwing Duck? We're...we're actually doing this?!"

"It is! We made Darkwing Duck real! Us!" Drake looked up at Launchpad, nothing but excitement, happiness, and some pure joy that it was the two of them together who accomplished all of this. He woke up every day thanking the universe that it was real. "Yes, yes! We really are! Darkwing Duck team and trash team!"

"We… really do make a pretty great daring duo, huh? No matter… what we're doing..." Launchpad took Drake's hand and clasped their fingers together, a gesture that had become so natural to him in recent days that it felt like the obvious thing to do. "Who would have thought that a couple of nerds… I mean… you're really cool, a real actor, a collector who really knows his stuff… but I'm just a pilot… to think that the two of us could make this real… together..." He squeezed his hand gently.

"You keep saying you're _'just_ ' a pilot. Like you're ' _just_ ' an adventurer, or ' _just_ ' the greatest fanfic writer to ever exist, or ' _just_ ' the only guy who I think is a bigger Darkwing fan than me, or _'just_ ' half of Darkwing Duck, or _'just_ ' the most... thoughtful, caring, big hearted... wonderful... duck in the whole world..." He stopped, and it was as though time itself stopped. He found himself staring at Launchpad, words escaping him. 

In a rare moment of perfect self-clarity, it dawned on Drake Mallard that he _might_ have a crush on Launchpad McQuack.

Launchpad just stared at him for what seemed like an eternity. He opened his beak, closed it, then opened it again, sliding his hand up to stroke the soft, fluffy feathers on the side of Drake's face. 

"DW… I… uh… do you… I mean, do you really..." he stammered, gazing at Drake, the pounding of his heart in his chest and ears drowning out his thoughts. "You think I'm… I'm… w-wonderful and… and..." He swallowed hard. "...all that...?" he finished, his voice small, glancing away and blushing deeply.

"Y-yeah..." Drake trailed off. "Is that too much? Do you need me to give you space? Sorry, I. Yeah." He cleared his throat. He could feel the blush creeping up his cheeks as he scrambled to change the subject. "I guess we should be heading out! The trash won't pick up itself, and we're contractors so... cash to earn! Lair to build... "

Launchpad held his hand still, not wanting to let the moment go just yet. He pulled it close to his chest, pressing Drake's palm flat against it, knowing he could feel his heartbeat that way. It was still pounding way too fast. He took a deep breath.

"Drake..." He glanced at him, and blushed a shade deeper. "Er… that is… DW..." He let his other hand slip through Drake's cheek feathers slowly, feeling the warmth there as his hand slid down to rest firmly on his shoulder. 

"...Thanks. I mean it. Coming from you that's… it-it means a lot..." 

It wasn't what he wanted to say. Not by a long shot. But it was better than simply letting the moment end and pass into nothingness. He searched Drake's face, wanting desperately to say more but lacking the words to say it. Words were far too simple for all of the emotions he was feeling anyway.

And yet, Drake Mallard's internal response to what was a sentimental, intimate moment was to stop breathing. 

_Very cool, very slick, yeah, just. Stare at the ginger with the big perfect face and big dumb hair and big perfect heart who doesn't realize he's probably a national_ _—_ _no, world_ _—_ _no, intergalactic treasure. Just look at him and want to say words. Say something! Thoughts! Emotions! Anything!_

"Yeah. Yeah totally. I’m always right, and I know I'm right. _You're_ the coolest." 

_Nailed it!_

Launchpad didn't have any words left, and he gave up on trying to make any more. He decided to crush Drake into one more hug rather than risking opening his mouth; maybe he could squish his feelings into him instead. That could totally work, right? _Totally._

Somewhere in the hug, Drake started breathing again, and he let out a sudden gasp for air.

_OH._

_RIGHT._

Drake’s brain seemed to reactivate with that gasp. The feeling of Launchpad hugging him, as organ crushing as it could be, was the absolute best thing ever. _100/10, utter perfection, breaks the scale._ Drake hugged him back, just happy to be there.

After a long, warm, lingering ‘neither-one-of-us-wants-to-let-go-but-we-have-to-right...?’ hug, Launchpad finally released him back into the couch with a gentle, awkward laugh. 

"Sorry, uh… guess I ought to take it easy on your ribs, huh? Don't wanna put you out of commission again..." He blushed, trying to play off the fact that the hug had lasted way, way longer than it needed to and he was still entirely too reluctant to let go.

"Ha! It's cool. You're vigorous! Keeps me tough!" Drake shot him a lopsided smirk. "A-anyway..."

Launchpad, feeling equally awkward and lost for words, rubbed his neck, but smiled shyly back at him. "Y-yeah… ha ha… anyway..."

They almost robotically went about their day after that, neither ready to admit anything to the other. Perhaps this was a good thing, as they were both going to be very preoccupied with other matters soon. Those other matters began to drift in, quite literally, with the rising river, and they were surprised to see their usual post-route gathering grounds flooded with nearly two feet of water. 

"It... hasn't rained _that_ much recently... I wonder what's going on...?" Drake wondered aloud.

The concrete-lined side walls and overflow for the river, which usually boasted no more than a thick, grimy sludge running sluggishly along the bottom, now looked swollen and bloated with a blooming swell of water that was rushing fast enough to have a visible current. They could see bits of leaves and trash, as well as stray broken twigs trapped in little whorls, bobbing up and down like the desperate, grasping fingers of a drowning swimmer caught in the rising tide.

"There's no way that much water came from the sky, this whole place would be flooded, right? The ground isn't muddy..." Launchpad kicked at a solid clump of dirt, perplexed.

"No, it's been pretty nice lately. Sometimes it floods like this in the summer after big storms, but that's like... normal? And most of the drains in the city, like storm drains and stuff dump into the river, so it could have come from everywhere or anywhere..."

Drake wasn’t usually one to give up quickly, but he also didn't think it would be worth trying to haul trash out of the actual river. "Weird, but something tells me there's more to this. Well... unless you want to try and pick up somebody else's route, I guess our afternoon just freed itself up. Got anything in mind, LP?"

"Not really, not unless you wanna..." Launchpad began as he watched a hand made of water creep out of the river, slither up over the bank, and wrap itself around Drake's ankle. 

"Eugh! DW! Watch out—!" 

But by the time he took a step forward to warn him it was too late. The wet, shimmering hand jerked Drake backward, yanking his feet out from under him, and dragged him down toward the river below.

As Drake lost his balance, he kicked out quickly with his foot, and the grip loosened, but he let out a fairly undignified yelp. The hand grew to envelop his whole foot, then half his leg before Launchpad plunged a rusty, muck-covered shovel into it at the watery elbow near the bank, severing the liquid limb. It writhed and twisted for a moment then splashed and soaked into the ground, vanishing with a wet hiss. He offered Drake a hand, helping him up. "What the heck was that about?!"

"EUgh! Yuck!" Drake grumbled as he got to his feet, taking Launchpad's hand. "It was like being eaten by a jellyfish! Gross! And it's not like a little water bugs me, I'm a duck!"

The water under the bridge was moving towards the bay as it always did, but the flow was odd. It seemed to be coursing along too quickly to be coming only from the city's runoff. Heading upstream, but giving the riverbank a cautious, wide berth, they spotted the source: a large busted pipe, spewing oily, unfiltered water into the river directly from the sewers.

Drake carefully climbed down to it, standing on a ledge above, he leaned over to investigate. "There's another pipe further up that's probably on the same line. It looks like the grate might be removable? I don't uh... I don't want to get any closer, but are you thinking what I'm thinking?”

"This looks like a job for the city water service?" He glanced at Drake blankly for a moment, then grinned. "Oh right! A job for Darkwing Duck!"

"Exactly! This must be where Liquidator escaped to! I mean, where else do creepy sentient water-hands come from?!"

~☆~ 

That night, one Darkwing Duck swung down in front of the pipe, easing himself down to the ledge, careful to not get too far away from his partner. Unscrewing the grate, he pulled it off, carefully setting it aside to re-attach later. It was barely tall enough to stand in, and the water was just under ankle-deep. 

"This water has to be draining from the city's water main, or somewhere else... there's no way this much would flood the river like this..." He pulled out a portable utility light, affixing it to his wrist like a watch. "Seems all clear, LP. Let's head in..."

The water felt strangely thick, even though it wasn't very deep, and as they waded further into the pipe, it gave Launchpad a bad feeling. "Hey, DW, do you have a plan to take this guy down…? I mean if he's…" 

There was a sound up ahead like someone running toward them, footsteps splashing heavily in the thick, shallow water. But no foe appeared. Launchpad cast the beam of his flashlight into the depth of the pipe as the footsteps grew louder, echoing as though they were right on top of them. He turned to Darkwing to say something else in confusion when the enormous upper torso of a well-muscled dog man sprang out of the water… no, he _was_ the water, but his fist, which connected firmly with Launchpad's beak, felt solid enough! It sent him sprawling backwards several feet away from Darkwing, splashing into the shallow water. The figure sank bank down into the inches of water rushing along the bottom of the pipe and headed toward him. 

“LP!” But Darkwing’s thoughts, well, his ‘plan,’ if it could even be called one, were interrupted by the rushing of water in the distance, and he advanced, casting the beam of his light around the pipe, looking for where their opponent vanished into the water.

“So! You must be Liquidator. Choosing St. Canard for your stomping—er—sloshing grounds, huh? Well! You chose wrong, because I am the terr—what’s that?” 

The sound already echoed in the pipe as he spoke, but the echo—no, the sound of rushing water was already getting closer… 

And it was coming incredibly _fast._

A rumbling shook the pipe, followed shortly by an enormous wave of that thick, viscous water. It crashed over them, flushing them out of the pipe and dumping them into the trash-filled river. The water was slimy and clung to them strangely. It had a disgusting pool-chemical odor that burned their throats. Gasping and clawing for the riverbank, Launchpad grabbed Darkwing around the middle, hauling him out of the sticky water and pulling him up onto the relative safety of dry ground. He plopped down there, taking a few seconds (seconds that felt far too long), to heave a few mouthfuls of mucus-thick water into the river before cradling the soaking wet form of Darkwing in his arms. 

The whole experience felt a bit like being tossed into a hotel pool filled with chlorine, but if it was also made of something akin to half-set jello, and the stinging sensation in Darkwing’s eyes and mouth made him sputter as Launchpad pulled him up onto the pavement. 

"Gee DW…" Launchpad coughed, the chemical taste of the water still filling his senses. They were both soaked in it. "...I'm feeling a little flushed." He pulled Drake close to him on instinct and promptly passed out. 

“LP!” Drake immediately tried to shake him awake, though soaked and irritable, Drake was far more worried about Launchpad, and he miserably dragged him the short distance back to the lair. Laying him on his side near the door, he pulled his soaking wet and heavy jacket off of him.

“LP, wake up!” 

Wet and more scared than he wanted to admit, Darkwing fished his phone out of his toolkit, frantically tapping out emergency first aid on drowning and head injuries into his search engine.

_Come on, Internet! Give me something!_

He had no idea what to do! Did LP swallow too much water? He was breathing, but he heaved most of it out! He squinted at the instructions on the _How To Care For A Victim Of A Water-Based Supervillain Attack_ page that he’d pulled up on his screen, trying to keep his hands steady. _Okay, just follow the steps; keep him breathing, and wake him up so he doesn’t choke on any more water that might come up…_

_And most importantly, don’t panic._

_Right. He could do that._

He rolled him onto his side and sat there for some time, rubbing circles into Launchpad’s back and talking to him, trying to wake him up, hoping he hadn’t hit his head on the pipe coming out, or sustained some other injury that wasn’t immediately visible.

Should he take him to the hospital? Rush him somewhere? There was no time to panic! He tried to calm himself down, taking deep breaths. He needed to focus! 

“Man, LP, I didn’t really have a plan… that wasn’t even a fight, huh? It was more like an encounter. A flushing. It was maybe 10 seconds, 20 tops! Ugh, I shouldn’t have said we should just rush in there… you’re better at thinking on your feet…I just try to be cool, I’m sorry...” 

He unbuttoned his waterlogged cape and wrung it out, trying to awkwardly fold it to help prop Launchpad’s head up in case he started coughing up more water. 

“Please be okay, please…” 

The first thing Launchpad became aware of was Drake's voice, drifting through a haze of murky consciousness, followed shortly by a splitting headache and the pool-water taste filling his mouth. He rubbed his eyes; even in the dim light of the hideout they stung. Trying to sit up was a mistake and he coughed, got a bit dizzy, and leaned back against the damp, wadded up ball of cape fabric. He put a hand to his head and peered at Drake, relieved to see him still standing despite everything. "DW...you're…" He coughed again, then pulled Drake into a damp hug. "You're okay!" 

“LP... oh my gosh, I was really scared for a minute!”

Drake held onto him for a long moment, then finally let go to resume wringing out Launchpad’s heavily soaked jacket over the drain, as well as his own still-dripping hat. He hung them over the railing of the stairs up to the main part of the lair. He hadn’t bothered to try and haul Launchpad up all of them to lay him on the couch; it probably would have gone poorly in his panic. The other thing he hadn’t bothered to do was worry about himself; he was too terrified by Launchpad’s unresponsive state to think of his own condition. With Launchpad awake and out of immediate harm, it was beginning to catch up to him and he sneezed, feeling the burning sensation in his upper bill. Somehow that gross-chemical water was one of the worst things to ever slither down his throat, and Drake had eaten some pretty nasty food in his storied lifetime as a bachelor. He made a face and sniffled, then looked at Launchpad with concern written on his face.

“Are you okay? I didn’t see you hit your head or anything, but you conked out pretty hard!” 

Rubbing the side of his head gingerly, Launchpad tried to piece it together. Everything all happened so fast... 

"Oh... uh... yeah, I don't think I hit my head, but that guy sure had a heck of a sucker punch…" He coughed again and heaved up a good lungful of sludge water. He frowned at it and grimaced. "Oh yeah. There's that too. I gulped down a bunch of that nasty water when it came rushing at us."

“Yuck! Man, I’m sorry, LP… I shouldn’t have rushed in there. Are you going to be okay…? I feel like this was kinda my fault.” They were both waterlogged and clobbered. So much for catching the villain who escaped Duckburg and getting the glory.

_Now what?_

Launchpad leaned back and stared up at the stairwell for a minute, thinking. "It isn't your fault, DW. I mean…" He leveled his gaze at him and smiled gently. "How are you supposed to fight an overgrown puddle, anyway? Maybe this isn't a job for Darkwing Duck, at least not... right now? Or not until we can figure something out…" 

He sighed, then pulled Drake forward by his sleeve gently, trying to pull the outer layer of Drake’s costume off over his head. "You ought to take this off, you know... it's soaked." 

Drake begrudgingly obliged, though he was more worried about Launchpad’s state than his own too-wetness. Still, his heart sped up a bit as Launchpad delicately tried to help him out of his costume. “I guess we should… go home and shower… and get on some dry clothes… probably go to the laundromat. Tonight was a bust.” He admitted. 

"Yeah…" Launchpad agreed softly. Standing up, though a bit wobbly, he was able to help Drake gather up their wet clothes and oddly enough, his driving wasn't much worse for the wear despite the fact that by all accounts he was in no condition to drive.

After an especially exhausting climb (the stairs seemed particularly formidable in heavy, wet clothes), they were rewarded with hot showers and a fresh change of clothes, though the offensive chemical smell that invaded the bathroom seemed to linger, even after they separated the contaminated ones. 

Launchpad iced his bruises and took some painkillers, then curled up on the couch in a significantly more comfortable, and more importantly, dry and warm sweater. He sipped at a cup of cocoa half heartedly, feeling a bit of his earlier rekindled enthusiasm dampened by this latest thrashing.

Drake dumped all of their wet clothes into plastic bags, since no amount of sink-rinsing was helping to eliminate the chemical smell. It made the whole bathroom smell like an indoor hotel pool, and not in the good way. He also threw the towels they used earlier that evening into his laundry bag, and put it near the door, glancing over at Launchpad.

“So…I guess we’re starting back at square one. Maybe worse, because he knows we’re here now. Ugh. And here I was hoping we could totally show up Gizmoduck.” 

"Well, look on the bright side! Gizmoduck couldn't catch him either, right?" 

He was quiet for a minute, and took a long sip of his cocoa. 

"Okay, maybe that's not the brightest side. Maybe we ought to go blow off some steam, huh, DW? Could be we got too much water on the brain, we gotta relax for a minute, step away from the problem…" Finishing his cocoa, he shot Drake a grin. "Besides, don't you still have a high score to beat…?" 

Drake had to admit he was right. Stewing in their defeat wasn’t going to help, and they’d been so focused on research and crime fighting recently. He hadn’t really just...spent time hanging out with Launchpad, who _should_ have been enjoying his extended vacation from McDuck Enterprises anyway. 

“You know what… yeah. Let’s do that. I still can’t get a full combo on _Desert Windstorm_ , I bet that’ll… get my mind off of this. Besides, we have to go to the laundromat too. Are you feeling okay to go out, though? It’s still early, but if you want to go to bed…”

"No way! Some time out sounds like just the thing." He brought his cup to the kitchen, then put his arm around Drake's shoulder. "Let's drop off this laundry and hit the GeekEasy, huh? I could go for a little mindless fun, I think."

Mindless fun? To Drake, spending time just hanging out with Launchpad sounded like medicine for anything that could possibly be wrong, like, ever. "Yeah... that does sound great."

The laundromat was empty, which made it easier to drop off both their soaked crime fighting clothes and their usual garbage uniforms for a good, heavy-duty double rinse cycle wash they could lock up with a card key. The pool-chemical smell of that odd, thick water mixed with the laundry soap and bleach scents that lingered in the laundromat made for an especially powerful combination that made Launchpad's head swim, and he hoped the extra spin cycle would do the job. 

"This stuff sure is nasty... I hope it washes out okay. But hey, this double wash should give us plenty of free time. It takes a while to really get that deep clean."

~☆~ 

The GeekEasy was more crowded that night, as the bar was actually open this time, but Drake was satisfied to order a Pep and chat with a few of the guys who hung around, letting everyone know about the Jim Starling stuff he was selling on Beakpop before he split a roll of quarters in half and passed one half to his companion. 

"Here, play whatever you want, maybe it’ll help to get our minds off of getting _flushed_. Ugh." 

He swore he could still taste that nasty chemical water in the back of his throat. 

_Blegh_.

"Flushed? Aw, _fish_! Did you guys get attacked too?" The voice came from a red cat sitting at the bar, who was tracing circles in the top of her drink with a straw. The motion made the ice clink softly against the side of the glass, and she watched the liquid in the cup swirl around for a moment before raising her head to look at him. "Sorry to interrupt, it’s just been pretty wild on the river side of town the last couple days. Happened to me too. An arm just came out of my toilet and tried to grab me! Crazy, right? Took my watch and everything. Thought I was losing it!" 

Her companion, a larger hen, who was sitting next to her, piped into the conversation. "It must be that skeezy Liquidator guy. The news said he was mugging people in their houses, right up through their toilets and sinks! Gross!” She clucked her tongue disapprovingly. “Everybody's talking about it, but it’s not like anybody’s going to _do_ anything. Hey, Drake, you're lucky he didn't take anything from your collection!" As she spoke, she stroked her fingers through the fur on the back of the cat’s neck casually to comfort her.

"No, no, nothing of mine was stolen, but I'll have to dial back on reading my first editions on the toilet," Drake joked.

Launchpad leaned on the bar next to Drake, and was about to ask for something special on the menu that had caught his eye; a Pep-based slushie with pop rocks and gummy worms in it. He was peering at the menu, trying to decipher whether or not the drink was alcoholic when someone came up and slapped him cheerfully on the back. He nearly fell over in alarm, but straightened up, turning around to see Bobby, the owner of the store, grinning at him. 

"Oh! Uh...hey! Sorry, you...you startled me. What's up?" He offered him a smile, trying to be friendly even though he was still a bit on edge from their encounter with Liquidator earlier. "This place is really hopping tonight, huh?"

Bobby was grinning as he pushed a roll of quarters into Launchpad’s hand. "Launchpa-a-ad, my man! You're the coolest duck in town, bro! Business is booming ever since that video of you beating _Dead Duck Rising II_ went viral! Play aaaanything you want, on the H-O-U-S-E, my duuuuude!"

Launchpad blinked down at the roll of quarters for a second, then glanced at Drake briefly and tilted his head at Bobby, a bit confused. "You think I'm...cool? I'm definitely not the coolest duck in town...I could probably think of at least one _way_ cooler duck..."

He grinned at Drake, a bit flustered at the unexpected attention. "Anyway, uh...thanks! It was my first time playing!" He paused for a minute, then his eyes went wide and he handed the quarters to Drake, grabbing Bobby by the shoulders excitedly. "Wait, I went viral?! I gotta call Dewey and tell him! I can't believe I didn't even notice..."

"Yeah, everybody has been talking about it, _Dead Duck Rising II_ is one of the hardest games in arcade history, nobody has ever survived the night before! There was even a whole online community that believed it to be unbeatable!" Drake leaned around them, giving Launchpad an encouraging thumbs up.

Launchpad just stared at him, then nodded slowly. "I've survived countless nights against the undead hordes over the years, behind walls of steel beneath a silent, unforgiving moon..." He blinked several times, then rubbed his neck. "But uh… ha ha… the game was fun though. It was...a nice release."

"Well, play all you want, hotshot!" Bobby clapped him on the shoulder, laughing as he walked away, leaving Drake next to Launchpad, who was smirking at him proudly. 

"Look at you with a reputation already! Wow LP!"

He blushed and shrugged. "I didn't realize it was that big of a deal...but hey! We're arcade-rich! Let's forget about old Licky for a while and just have a little fun, what do you say, DW?" He grinned at him and took him by the arm, leading him eagerly toward the rows and rows of arcade cabinets.

After a few rounds of various games, they both managed to loosen up a little, trying to take their minds off of the situation. Before long, Drake was tapping away at _Dubeat_ , trying to drop his irritation and just focus on the punchy techno and lose himself in the rhythm. "You don't want to try?"

Launchpad eyed the rhythm game uneasily. "I'm not exactly what you would call...uh...smooth." But he did enjoy watching Drake play; there was a sort of hypnotic rhythm to his movements as he got into the flow and his hands slid over the buttons to the music that Launchpad found oddly soothing. "Besides, you're so good at it! I like cheering you on~!"

"That's fine, I'm... trying to be faster, I guess? You know, smoother..." He answered, without looking up. "Still can't believe Liquidator is real. He was a minor show villain, but don't say I didn't notice. It's just too weird? In one spinoff he was defeated by being trapped in a water-wheel type power generator... but that's not exactly feasible here in real life..."

"Yeah...I remember, he was pretty OP, even in the comics..." He crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, just watching Drake play and trying to think. "Liquidator never got featured much, so there's not much to go on...it's too bad we can't just ask someone..."

"Well OP or not, he's graduating to attacking people at home, so we should stop him. I also realize most supervillains will just walk out of jail too, either by means of corruption, or jail just isn't something that can contain villains... huh, maybe I’ll submit that as a question for the board. Supervillain jail..." He seemed pensive, but his gaze was squarely on the buttons in front of him, the flashing colors of the screen reflecting in his eyes.

Watching Drake in his flow as he played was something else, it was like his thoughts moved with the music, and Launchpad realized that their best bet for coming up with a plan was probably to keep him playing as long as possible. He smiled at the thought. "Is there anything you can't do, DW?" He said, more to himself than to Drake.

"Can't stop a stupid water villain apparently," He grumbled. "Elementals are usually superhero 101. You know, fire monsters, freeze rays, rock golems, guys building weather machines, the works. Every hero should be able to deal with them." 

He swore under his breath when he missed a note. "Sure, I'm scrappy enough to be able to take a hit or twenty, but we need to fight back somehow..."

Launchpad loaded up the _Dubeat_ machine with credits, giving Drake a little grin and a thumbs up. "Keep getting back up, right? You'll think of something, you always do!" 

Leaving Drake to get in the zone, he wandered over to the discussion board, curious to see what weekly question Bobby had posted, only to be shocked to see written neatly in blue pen: 

_"How would you defeat a villain made entirely of liquid?"_

No way! Could it be...? But _of course_ people were talking about Liquidator! He was all over the news, and even the people at the bar were abuzz about the mysterious watery supervillain attacking people all over the city. This could be exactly what they needed! He pulled out the little notebook they used for shopping lists and superhero notes and began jotting down some of the responses. Some were....more helpful than others:

_"Boil him into steam"_

_"What kind of liquid is he...?"_

_"Turn him into soup and drink him"_

_"im a duck??"_

_"Mix him into quick-set concrete"_

_"Instant jello"_

_"Freeze him into ice cubes"_

_"A really big sponge"_

_"A silly straw in the shape of the word 'relax'"_

_"_ ~~ _Bubble bath_ ~~ _Bath bombs"_

_"Dihydrogen Monoxide"_

_"A lot of spoons"_

_"A pool floatie"_

And so on.

Drake tried to zone out as he played, but his thoughts were getting to him. The rushing water, the stinging of inhaling it, hauling Launchpad’s form inside the door, the seconds that he begged him to wake up that felt like centuries lingered in his mind.

He froze, and notes appeared and vanished beneath the buttons, everything blurred for a moment, like he was underwater once more, missing a whole set of notes before he snapped out of it, suddenly hearing the music again. 

_Come on, keep it together. If you freeze up at a crucial moment, LP could get hurt way worse! Try to find that place again, where you don't think, where you somehow just know the right thing to do, and act!_

Clicking his pen and shoving it back in his pocket, Launchpad jogged across the arcade, back over to the _Dubeat_ machine, where he skidded to a halt beside Drake and just barely avoided crashing into the arcade cabinet. He brandished the notebook before him like it was some kind of holy artifact.

"Here, DW! Look!" He caught his breath, noticed the expression on Drake's face and grew slightly concerned. He put a hand on Drake's shoulder gently. "Hey, are you alright...?"

Launchpad’s hand on his shoulder snapped Drake back to reality. 

"Huh? Yeah, j-just... lost in my thoughts. Sorry."

Launchpad offered him a little grin, holding up the notebook and tapping it lightly. 

"You'll never guess what Bobby put on the discussion board today..." He handed Drake the notebook and let out a good-natured laugh. 

"That ought to jumpstart our brainstorming session, huh, DW?"

"How would you defeat a villain made entirely of liquid, huh? Any good ideas? Maybe if we get the world's biggest towel or something..."

"We could always call a plumber... seal those pipes up good? He's so.... slippery! If we could just get him to... to stay put somehow..."

"Well… let’s think about this the way DW would. He's probably testing the pipes, trying to see how far he can go... breaking into people's places and stuff. There might be something else, if the attacks seem random, that’s strange. Liquidator was usually more of a destructive villain than a petty thief, maybe he’s trying to map out the city, or plan something… I wonder what he wants?" He tried to clear his head, pressing the OK button for another round. "You good, LP? There's a ton of games, you don't have to just stand there and watch me get all into my head."

"Oh! Oh....yeah, sorry! I uh..." He hadn't realized that sitting here, just watching Drake play was an odd thing to do.

"Sorry! I'm probably breaking your concentration, huh? I'll uh... I'll go check out the... er..." He glanced around, then pointed at the first machine that caught his eye: _Fix-It Felix Jr._

"That one! I've never tried it but maybe I'll break another world record, right?" He laughed awkwardly and then turned and walked away before he could be any more weird.

As he walked past, Drake noticed his sudden absence more than his presence. He hadn't wanted to make it weird, he was just worried Launchpad might get bored. Besides, if he was freezing up… —Freeze! That was it! He turned around, rushing after him. 

"LP! _Freeze_! That's it! We need a-uh-a-a something super cold! Freeze on contact! Like that-that, oh my gosh what is it, super cold... liquid nitrogen!"

Looking up from his first round of _Fix-It Felix Jr._ (which, it turned out, he wasn't likely to break any world records at; he had just been silently lamenting that he couldn't play as the wrecking guy when Drake ran up to him), he turned around and tilted his head. 

"Liquid… nitrogen? Where are we going to get something like that? I don't think they serve it at the bar..."

"No, no! It's not really… er, drinkable, please _don't_ drink it, actually... I uh... I actually don't know where to get it?"

Launchpad leaned against the Fix-It Felix Jr. cabinet, abandoning his half-finished game.

"Well... _somebody_ must know where to get it..." 

His head was starting to hurt again, but he didn't want to say anything about it. He got the feeling that Drake needed this time away from everything for a bit, and he didn't want to cut it short. 

"Why don't we just hang out here for a bit, then once we head home and get some rest we can try to figure it out tomorrow? That's already a pretty big breakthrough, right?"

They proceeded to play through a few more games before heading back to finish their laundry. Before leaving, Drake scrawled out a question for the board on a note and left it in the suggestion jar:

 _"How would you build and manage a supervillain jail?"_

~☆~

Dry laundry in hand, their trek back up to the apartment felt longer than usual for their exhaustion, and they were happy to practically collapse into bed, so many words between them unsaid, resting between their tightly clasped hands.

The sleep was welcome, and with Drake's fingers linking him to safety and comfort, Launchpad found it peaceful, a deep, dreamless, silent slumber that he desperately needed after the events of the day. He curled close to Drake in his sleep, all of the awkwardness evaporating as soon as he closed his eyes, as though his unconscious self knew what felt natural.

There was something perfect about it. All of it; the pile of clean laundry waiting to be put away, cross-referenced shopping lists in two sets of handwriting, plans for upgrading the lair strewn about the table, tinfoil-wrapped pizza in the fridge, a cape hanging in the closet beside a well-worn bomber jacket...

Drake and Launchpad snuggled close together as the sun began to dip over the edges of the city skyline, painting the horizon in pollution-grade brilliant hues of yellow and red. 

Despite the pendulous clouds gathering in the east and the ominous, unusual weather forecast (that old sailor’s adage came to mind: _red sky at night, sailor’s delight, red sky at morning…_ ), as he drifted off to sleep, hand interlaced with Launchpad’s and feeling safe and warm...

...Drake thought to himself that right here, at least for this moment:

Everything was perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Watch as our next few chapters become SUPER not-canon after the episode that drops in a couple weeks! Everything we've posted so far was written before LGD came out, we've just been editing so it is more canon and actually readable. I don't consider this fix-it fic, we actually love the canon a lot! We just... want more Darkwing Duck content. I can't thank you enough for reading our self-indulgent little story! ~ Mur
> 
> I promise you I wrote lines for our damp capitalist, our boys just got Lick'd so quick he didn't get a word in edgewise this chapter! Don't worry, he'll be back with a slimy sales pitch soon enough... so don't touch that dial! ~ Rai


	11. Let's Get Liquidated 2: Electric Boogaloo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning - This chapter contains: Mentions of death and drowning, cartoon electrocution.

"Liquid nitrogen?" Fenton asked as he tucked his phone against his shoulder. His hands were currently occupied with a hi-tech pauldron, which he was painstakingly re-assembling next to the Frankensteinian form of the Gizmosuit. The latter was sprawled across the table in a haphazard assortment of bits and pieces, though these were at least somewhat organized. The whole workspace had the air that some might call _creative genius_ and others might call _overworked laboratory assistant._

"Yeah, where can I buy some?" Drake asked excitedly as he poured his coffee, reaching for the cereal despite it being nearly noon. 

"You don't just buy liquid nitrogen, you need something to contain it, it has to be stored at negative ninety degrees centigrade, and it turns to gas when it touches air! Why, there are necessary protocols for handling—" there was a crashing noise behind him, and he shifted the phone to his other ear. 

"I could probably obtain some for you, but liquid nitrogen isn't something you just carry around, you know?"

Launchpad was already halfway through a bowl of Purple Krunchies, into which he’d poured coffee instead of milk. He was folding the clothes they had washed the night before, while sort of half-listening to the phone call and reading over a shopping list that he'd scribbled down. "Oh, ask him about..." He waved his spoon in the air vaguely, trying to remember the idea. "Supervillain jail! How do we keep him contained once we...ya know?"

"Well—er, yeeeaaahhh, but I'm trying to make... well, in my research, we're trying to catch and freeze something… watery? Moving fairly fast..." 

"Well, I actually uh, I mean I was working on something related to that...a container for volatile liquids, I mean..." Fenton began, but he was immediately interrupted by Gearloose's protests. 

"Oh no, we are not just HANDING OVER that proprietary containment system to mess around with! You may have developed it, but you’re still _my_ assistant, Assistant! And that makes it Gearloose Labs Tech! And I don't think _anyone_ there has the proper storage or handling procedure for liquid nitrogen!" Dr. Gearloose protested. 

"Well-I could take it over myself, maybe...?"

Launchpad drank down the last of his purple-tinted coffee, then wiped his beak on his sleeve and sighed. "I mean...Gizmoduck could probably..." He stopped himself, glancing at Drake hesitantly. "That is, what I meant to say was, uh…? Wasn't Gizmoduck on TV recently looking for some water-based villain? I bet he has something like that...?"

Drake sucked in air through his teeth. He _really_ wanted them to be able to do this on their own. But after their… encounter... 

_Encounter? It wasn’t even a fight! Ugh._

That was exactly why they were calling for help. Because they couldn't handle it alone. 

He took a slow, steadying breath, then steeled himself. "I mean, probably, but we really don't need to bother Gizmoduck... I trust Darkwing Duck to handle Liquidator...he can take care of St. Canard on his-"

"Liquidator is there? In St. Canard?" Fenton's tone seemed to change entirely when he heard that.

"Well, yeah, but it's under control, you know..."

"No, it's fine! If he's been located, that's wonderful! I'll bring—I mean! Gizmoduck will be happy to hear it! He's been desperate to track down Liquidator! What time, it's 11:43am now, I can meet you around 6?"

"No, I meant!" Drake was about to further protest, then looked at Launchpad and sighed. He was right. He hated it, but they did need the help. "Fine, yes... tell Gizmoduck that Liquidator has been spotted here in Saint Canard. I'll... give you more details when you get here. Okay?" 

"Affirmative! I'll pack up a few things and I'll text you in a bit! See you tonight!" 

As he hung up the phone, Fenton gave Dr. Gearloose a pleading look, clasping his hands together. "Please, Doctor Gearloose! I know I'm being reckless, but I have a feeling about this! You'll just have to trust me, and I know it's dangerous to go alone..."

Dr. Gearloose looked at his pleading assistant and crossed his arms. "Liquidator is a pretty serious threat... McDuck Enterprises was very clear that they wanted him captured as soon as possible..." He searched Fenton's face for a moment. 

"You really trust this… Drake Mallard character...?" He sighed and threw up his hands.

"Fine! Go, take the suit with you. But Gizmoduck will handle the liquid nitrogen! And you had better bring Liquidator back here to Duckburg, safely contained!"

Fenton lit up, shaking his hand enthusiastically. "Yes, of course! I know he got away the first time, but we have a plan now and I trust your system this time! I promise I won't let you down!" He brought a hand to his chest, looking up at him. 

"Thank you for trusting me, Dr. Gearloose. I'll do my best." 

~☆~

Meanwhile, Drake Mallard was going about his day trying to mentally prepare himself for what would inevitably be an encounter with Gizmoduck. What was worse, a toy shop opened up near the location of Fun-Raiders-Turned-Warehouse-Turned-Nefarious-Quackerjack-Hideout, and it immediately made him suspicious. It was somehow even MORE suspicious that it looked completely benign, doing hardly any business as far as he could tell, and the toys in the window all looked conspicuously unassuming and innocent. 

Still, it would somehow be even more suspicious yet if the local garbage men started snooping around. Drake couldn't help pouting as they shared a late lunch.

"First Liquidator, and _now_ Quackerjack is back already? I mean, I can't prove it, but nobody, and I mean _nobody,_ just names a toy store _Quack in the Box!_ And I know it's that time of year, but somehow I don't really want to see posters about the 'latest in super soaker technology'... okay, so maybe it's not that suspicious! I just feel like it is! Next thing we know, Bushroot will be out again and there'll be a forest growing where a skate park was or something!"

Launchpad chewed at his burrito thoughtfully. "That toy store does seem kind of weird, doesn't it? Have you even seen anybody inside? Customers? Employees? The place seems deserted. They have a 'Now Hiring' sign up in the window, but..." 

He took another bite, then shrugged. "Also, there's that creepy window display that's just… clowns. Eugh. You're right, that place has old Quackerjack written all over it..."

"I'd say let's stake out the place... but I agreed to meet Fenton tonight about the liquid nitrogen to take on Liquidator with..."

Crime-fighting was quickly turning into a full-time job. Since when did Saint Canard _ACTUALLY_ have supervillains, not just... lots of crime? And didn't any of these guys have day jobs? It made sense that being a villain must _be_ their full time gig…

But did that mean that crime really _did_ pay? What kind of message was that sending? Maybe the city really did need a hero to inspire the next generation if _that_ was the writing on the wall.

But Darkwing Duck has to have a day job! Technically two day jobs, since he's two people! And crime-fighting may be a thankless job, but justice was its own reward. Yeah, that sounded inspirational! Maybe he’d keep it tucked away in his brain for an interview someday.

Drake shook his head miserably and continued with a groan. "UGH, and that means Gizmoduck will be in town because he said he would tell him..."

"Well, I could go and apply at the toy store, check it out..." Launchpad pulled up the address on his phone and scribbled it down, then thought for a minute. "Hmm… I'll need to find something to wear to the interview... what do you wear to a toy store interview?"

"I don't know... a bow tie, maybe?" Drake sat there for a long moment, staring at the contents of his wrap as if they held some secret answer to the universe. 

They did not. 

Still, Launchpad was volunteering to go gather intel on Quackerjack. Alone.

And he would have to go... potentially team up with Gizmoduck. Alone. 

And face Liquidator... without Launchpad? They were _partners_ ! They worked so _well_ together! But even with that considered... maybe if Launchpad didn't go, it meant he could stay safe. Was the way to protect LP really for him to stay out of the action? But they were a team! A pair! A dynamic duo! He was only half of Darkwing Duck by himself. An incomplete set. He sank down in his seat. 

Launchpad looked up suddenly at Drake, a slight frown pulling at the corners of his beak. "What about you, DW? Are you gonna be okay all by yourself with...old ironsides?"

"I guess. It's not him I'm worried about. I don't want to go on a mission without you. I-I-I can't! We're a _team!_ How is Darkwing Duck supposed to stop Liquidator if only half of him is there?"

Launchpad put down the other half of his burrito and took Drake's hand, twining their fingers together gently. "Hey...don't worry, DW..." He smiled at him, though his heart ached. To be quite honest, he didn't want to be apart from him either, not for this mission or any other. Not for any reason. Not for a heart beat. He gave his hand a little squeeze. 

"I know it isn't going to be ideal... but we can be twice the Darkwing spread across the city like this, right? I know you don't like Gizmoduck very much, but you'll probably be safer with him... and if anything looks fishy at the toy store I'll head to the hideout for rendezvous, okay? We'll be fine. Darkwing Duck is always triumphant!"

Drake squeezed his hand back, as if it were the most important thing in all of the world at that moment. He could feel a lump in his throat, and the blush floating to his cheeks. LP was being super brave anyway! Just strolling into what they were sure was an enemy hideout! He had to trust him. 

"You're right, LP. We'll both do our best. But you call me when there's trouble, okay?"

He chuckled at this and held Drake's hand to the side of his face for a second. "Well yeah, DW, who else would I call?" 

Drake's hand was warm against his cheek and he softened, meeting his gaze and smiling gently. "I wouldn't want anyone else by my side if there was trouble but you..."

"I... thanks, I trust you..."

In that moment, it was almost like time stopped, yet was passing so quickly... like wind, rushing by them both. They were looking at each other with such emotion, Drake wanted to throw his arms around him. He wished he could hold onto Launchpad and never let go. That this stupid, chaotic mess that was their lives, that it would all be okay... somehow, because they had each other. 

He wanted to... 

_Oh gosh! Okay. Back it up, Drake Mallard, you absolute loon!_

"Oh! Um, LP! Your burrito is going to get cold!" _Nice save_.

Launchpad jerked back a bit, startled out of the daze he had been caught in, staring into Drake's eyes. 

There was something between them, some magnetic energy in those moments that took his breath away, and he hadn't realized that he had leaned so close to him. 

He blushed, releasing Drake's hand and picking up what remained of his burrito, nibbling at it half-heartedly. 

"R-Right... burrito. Wouldn't want a cold burrito..." He would have preferred all of his burritos to be cold forever if Drake just leaned a little closer, pulled him in, if they could have just touched their beaks together... He paused, mid-bite, and blushed even deeper.

_What on Earth was he thinking?_

_Come on, LP! This was Drake Mallard, coolest duck on the planet, your partner in crime fighting... this was no time to be thinking about... about…!_

He shoved the thoughts away, and shoved the burrito into his mouth.

The rest of their lunch was strangely awkward, and the day rolled on as usual, as usual as it could, anyway.

Surprisingly enough, the help wanted sign at _Quack in the Box_ was indeed serious, serious enough that the owner, Mr. Quacklemore, offered him an interview that very night. 

Fenton arrived just as he said he would, carrying the same huge duffel bag as he had during his first visit, and a metal container that looked somewhat like the sort of cooler one would take to the beach.

"Salutations and um! Hello! Drake, Launchpad! Sorry I rushed over with such short notice! I was working on some...things." 

"Come in! Here, I'll show you what we're up to! Before we get started, um, I'm sorry in advance, but LP and I are going to leave at like... eh, 8 or so, I have to take him to a job interview. We might be gone for some of the night, don't worry about it, you can just lock yourself in, be safe."

 _At least Fenton was going to be a buffer for what would likely be a very long night!_ Drake thought to himself as he shut the door behind him. 

"That's fine, I think? I might have to duck out to, er, contact Gizmoduck anyway." He didn’t want to talk about that too much, and Drake didn't miss a beat, glad to change the direction of the conversation.

"Oh! Fenton! This prototype you gave me is the coolest thing ever! It works great! You’re a genius, it's even better than the original!"

Launchpad excused himself, vanishing into the bedroom for a moment and reappearing with a blue tie and a yellow bowtie with black polka dots. He held them both up. 

"Oh... hm... which one of these screams 'working at a toy store is my life dream and applying for this job definitely isn't a cover up for some kind of investigation?'"

He glanced at Drake, then at Fenton, blinked several times, and then shrugged. "Uh, figure of speech. I'm uh... you know, nervous. About the interview."

Drake caught himself looking at LP, completely distracted from their conversation for a few seconds, his mind distracted by his mental theater deciding two things. One: LP totally would look like a cool secret agent in any suit, and two: that fact was extra cool, because secret agents were cool, and this job was sort of secret agent-y. 

"I think the blue suits you, but the yellow looks like it fits the job? You got this LP, I know it!" He finally answered.

Fenton wanted to say something about how he thought Launchpad was perfectly fine with his current job as Scrooge's pilot, and didn't need another, but thought better of it. Maybe he was working through some stuff. "Just be confident and be yourself, I'm sure you'll nail it." he offered him a reassuring thumbs up.

"I'm so glad you liked the prototype! I uh, I made it myself from trash from around the lab—not that it's trash! It's just uh... upcycled! But if there's any functionality issues, let me know, I'll try to fix it! Usually Doctor Gearloose is too busy with his own inventions, so I'm actually really... glad you're helping with mine..."

Holding the bowtie to his neck for a second, Launchpad smiled, satisfied, then nodded. "Thanks! That toy store won't know what hit it!"

With that, he disappeared back into the bedroom to get dressed. Several moments later, there was a small crashing sound as something was knocked over and Launchpad could be heard exclaiming 'Oops!' before popping his head back out of the bedroom door. His dress shirt was buttoned (though he had misaligned the top few buttons) but the bowtie was untied around his neck. He motioned for Drake to come to the door. 

"Hey uh... don't come in here! I totally didn't knock over a bookshelf or anything! But if I did, don't worry because I'll totally handle it... but... uh..." He leaned in close, whispering to Drake, a bit embarrassed to admit this in front of Fenton. "I have no idea how to wear a bow tie. How the heck do you put one of these things on?!"

"Come here, I've got it," Drake re-buttoned his shirt for him, re-tying his bow tie. "You sure you'll be okay on your own?" He whispered. "I mean. I can always... _not_ go meet Gizmoduck...?"

"No! No way, I've got this! It'll be fine! I'll call you if there's trouble. I promise." He smiled reassuringly at him, and had the utterly absurd urge to lean in and bury his face against his neck. He pushed the feeling away, contenting himself with putting a hand on his shoulder firmly.

"Okay, okay, fine. You'll do great. I'll do... great." He finished, with a bit less enthusiasm. He patted Launchpad’s hand reassuringly, shooting him a half-smile before taking a moment to pack his DW stuff up in a messenger bag, along with a toolkit and some smoke bombs. He tossed it over his shoulder. Stepping back out into the living room, he glanced around awkwardly.

"Uh, Fenton? I'm not judging, just letting you know you don't need to bring a ton of stuff every time you come. I have plenty of blankets and toiletries and stuff..."

Fenton had the cooler open and was sitting on top of the huge duffel bag he brought, fiddling with a cylindrical container with a small control panel on the side. 

"Oh! Uh... well... don't worry about it. It's actually just equipment that belongs to Doctor Gearloose. It doesn't matter, come check this out." 

Hesitantly, Drake walked around the oversized bag and sat down next to him. 

"It's a compression thermos. You see, atoms consist mostly of empty space. Everything. Solids, gas, even you and me. What it does is push the particles of the molecules close together, so you can safely store most anything inside it, and seal it up. Cool, huh? Oh, but I brought the liquid nitrogen, it's sealed in this container! What did you have in mind?"

Drake smirked and pulled out a few empty capsules from his pocket. "So, let me know if my ideas get too _dangerous._ "

~☆~

Arriving at the interview was a strange experience. The building really did look almost deserted, except for the rows of gleaming toys smiling from the windows. The lights were on, and the door was unlocked, but if not for that Launchpad might have thought it was closed. There were no other employees or ducks waiting to be interviewed. There was nobody at all. It was eerie. However, on the counter was a note, folded in half with _LAUNCHPAD_ written in bold letters on it. He picked it up hesitantly and read it.

Dear newest _Quack in the Box_ employee, Congratulations on being hired! Good job! Now get to work bringing smiles to all our lucky customers! _Quack in the Box_ toys are the toys that keep on giving!' 

Underneath the slip of paper was a nametag with 'Launchpad' in neat, shiny letters. He looked around, shrugged, and pinned it to his shirt, stepping behind the counter. " _What_ lucky customers...? This place is deserted! I hope DW is having more luck than me..."

The almost carnival-like store music was faint but played on an unsettling loop, with a gap between the end and repeat just long enough to make one question if the tape ended. After what felt like a very long while, a duck seemed to pop out from in front of the counter, clad in a completely clashing red and blue suit, leaning against the counter in front of Launchpad. 

"So you're Launchpad? Welcome, hi, hello, thanks for coming to your orientation! I'm Jack Quacklemore, the manager! I've got big plans for this place, big plans! But we haven't had many customers, it's such a bummer. Do you have any ideas to bring in kids? More _videogames_ ? Action figures? FUN gadgets?" He asked, pulling some chattering teeth from his pocket and placing them on the counter. The way he said the word ‘videogames’ was odd; it was stifled, yet a bit too intense, as if he were holding back some kind of powerful emotion. "I’ve got boats and planes and robotic arms and dollhouses and all _kinds_ of stuff! Stop me if you think I'm going too fast!"

Launchpad considered for a moment, taken aback by this strange duck but not wanting to blow his cover. After all, DW was counting on him! "Oh, uh...well, maybe video games? You know, that _Whiffle Boy_ game is real popular with kids these days..." There was something off about this duck, but he couldn't quite place his finger on it.

"That is, if you think it's a good idea, Mr. Quacklemore, sir." he added quickly, trying to stay formal. He didn't want to upset his new boss in the first few hours, even if this was supposed to be an investigation...

"Ugh that blasted _Whiffle Boy_ ! That guy really ruffles my feathers! He’s always ruining my fun! But then again…” Quacklemore gave him an unsettling look, then crossed his arms, clearly thinking about something. “Hmmm. Games…? No, no, you're right! Maybe games _are_ the answer! After all, isn't all of playtime naught but a game? And oh, _adults!_ Adults _want_ to play, but poor things, they don’t know it! They _can’t_ know it! They're too drab, too tired! Too old and bored! They're so busy with jobs and bills and being stressed, they've forgotten playtime! Can you imagine such a thing? To forget the most important joy in a childish heart? Why, it makes me sick! _Nothing_ is more important than playtime!" He leaned against the counter, kicking his feet playfully. "Oh you're simply _brilliant!_ So much to consider!"

"Playtime...?" Why did that sound so familiar? Launchpad felt like there were alarm bells going off in his head.

"Hey, uh, Mr. Quacklemore, why is it there are no other employees here, anyway? This is an awful big shop for you to run all by yourself, isn't it?" He took a step away from the strange duck. He didn't like the way he was grinning at him.

"It is, but it's just me. That's why I'm hiring! Anyway, orientation time! We're open from 11am to 9pm every day, except Mondays because nobody likes Mondays! Do you need a set schedule? I'm flexible! We use a basic point of sale system and you don't have to worry about stocking because I will do all that!" He kept grinning, though he was indeed talking very, very fast, watching Launchpad with an almost manic intensity.

"If you do the stocking and set the schedule and there aren't any customers then uh… what should I do, exactly?" This whole thing was feeling more and more fishy by the minute, and he really didn't like the way his 'boss' was staring at him and grinning. His grin seemed too wide, too pleased with himself, as though there were some joke that Launchpad wasn't in on.

"Well, that's the thing! You'll help customers and keep the place clean and take care of the toys once we do start getting customers! I just... haven't figured that part out yet! I'll pencil you in for Tuesday! Maybe by then we'll have some customers!"

"Uh....sure! Hey, listen, I gotta go, Mr. Quacklemore, you see my uh… my friend he er… needs me to help him find his lost...yo-yo? Yeah! He lost it! And it was his… grandmother's! From the old country, you see, so I really gotta help him out..." Launchpad McQuack was a terrible liar, and he knew it. He winced, preparing for Mr. Quacklemore to see right through him.

And yet somehow, he bought it. "My, that _does_ sound serious; a missing yo-yo is no laughing matter! Okay! Off with you then! I'll set up a locker for you!"

"I can explain! It's not what you...!" He paused, flabbergasted. How had that actually worked?! "Er… I mean… uh… thanks! I'll… uh… see you Tuesday, then, Mr. Quacklemore, sir." 

He waved him off as quickly as he could without being impolite or suspicious, then left immediately, pulling his phone out and letting out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding as soon as he stepped out of the door. That guy really gave him the creeps! He decided against calling DW for now. After all, there wasn’t any actual trouble, was there? Regardless, he decided to head to the hideout for rendezvous anyway and shoot DW a text:

_DW, totally nailed it, boss is a creep but need more time, heading 2 hideout for meetup, how r things?_

At the very moment Drake received the text, he was about to fall off of the roof to the St. Canard Waterworks, his arm desperately wrapped around a flagpole before another wave came crashing down on him and he lost his grip, toppling off the side. 

_Great, just gotta catch a wave. Meet u later!_

But a lot also happened that night leading up to this fiasco.

~☆~ 

Once he left Launchpad near the toy shop, Drake changed into his Darkwing gear and headed to the rendezvous point. These new cold pellets for the gas gun could blast parts of Liquidator, but it wouldn't freeze him fully. He knew Gizmoduck would probably have Fenton's container, so... that meant either finding a way to freeze him all at once, or putting the pieces into the container before he could thaw. Annoying, but it was the best he had worked out as a plan. 

He had a feeling the real challenge would be getting Gizmoduck to listen.

After Drake and Launchpad left, it was easy enough for Fenton to put on the suit, sneak out the window of the apartment, and go meet this 'Darkwing Duck' before he was missed. But Fenton worried that despite how much he trusted Drake's judgment, this hero's ego would prove an even more difficult challenge to overcome than their slippery common foe. After all, their last encounter was almost as frigid as that liquid nitrogen. That aside, he was bound and determined to at least try his best to get along with this narcissistic St. Canardian Guardian. 

He arrived at the meetup point, carrying the container in tow, looking around for the mysterious figure that was to be his partner for the night. 

"Hello...? It is I, Gizmoduck! I've brought the containment unit for that aqueous ne'erdowell, Liquidator!"

Darkwing duck swooped down from where he was sitting on top of a lamppost, immediately trying to pull the other hero into an alleyway. Gizmoduck was, of course, much larger than him, so this attempt was mostly ineffective.

"SShhhhh! Yes, thank you for coming, sheesh, you'll give us away!" He whispered. "Look, I know we got off on the wrong wing last time, but I've got a plan, and as much as I would rather do this without you, I-I need your help, okay? It's not a one-duck job, even if you're... not my first choice of partners." He missed having Launchpad as his partner already.

Looking him up and down for a second, Gizmoduck nodded. 

"I see. Thank you for… tolerating my assistance, I suppose?"

What on Earth was he supposed to say to that? Of course it wasn't a one-duck job! Liquidator was a ridiculously powerful supervillain! "Why don't you tell me this plan of yours, Wingy? Then maybe we can work together as a team and bring this villain to justice!" 

Fenton tried to push his doubts aside and focus on the mission. Maybe this Darkwing Duck character just had a flair for the dramatic and an ego to match it? After all, Mr. McDuck had a heck of an ego and a flair for adventure, and he always believed in his employees like they were practically family! Maybe he just had to… give him time. Give him a chance. Get to know him.

_Wingy? Okay, THAT nickname was not going to fly. Still, it was only one night. For just one night, you have to deal with this guy instead of Launchpad. Perfect, sweet, wonderful Launchpad._

_Ugh! Focus, Drake!_

"Okay, so! I've got some new stuff too, I'm thinking if we can manage to freeze him, then we will be able to contain him. Now, I’ve got freeze bombs, but they won't freeze him fully, so we have to get the timing right and hit him with multiple blasts. Otherwise he'll escape. Now," He knelt down, unrolling a map of the city. 

"He's using the water main to get around. Now, he tends to pop up here, here, and here. There's a way in over here by the river, but honestly, that's his territory, and uh... you won't really fit. So, we need to lure him up here where we have more space."

Freeze bombs? Intriguing. Drake had suggested a similar idea… though that wasn't unusual, considering what a huge fan of the guy he was. Fenton smiled to himself at the thought of Drake carefully pouring over his notes on the prototype he had sent. It was like… like having a lab assistant, but better! 

There was a word for that... He shook his head, trying to stay focused. 

_The map, Fenton! Focus!_

"Excellent work, Wingy! Let's see here… how does one lure a hydromorphous figure out into the open? Is there some pattern to his attacks?" He tilted his head and peered at the map, as he often did while trying to solve a particularly difficult problem. "Ah-ha! Here! The St. Canard waterworks! If we close off all the pipes in the city except this main one and reverse the flow, he'll have nowhere else to go! Then we'll be waiting to flush him out and give him the cold shoulder!"

"The wha—yeah, no, that nickname dies here. It's Darkwing. Or the terror that flaps in the night, the defender of the night, the—wh!!" He sputtered. "I-I totally knew that. Though we won't have long with the water off before people start noticing, so we have to work fast. Just get him out and go after him when he's in the open. We freeze him in unison from each side and then boom, you have your villain you can lock up, or uh, whatever… you… plan to do with him."

He rolled up the map, stashing it away in the pack he kept under his cape. "Okay, so, you have to be sneaky. I can sneak into a manhole for the water main and be a distraction, but he can't know you're there until you've flushed him out."

"Sneaky! Right! I can do sneaky! Okay… Gizmosuit Stealth Mode ACTIVATE!" Fenton wasn't entirely sure that the Gizmosuit HAD a Stealth Mode, but it was linked to his brain, so he figured if he stated it boldly enough and thought about being quiet really really hard then maybe...?

He focused on sneaky thoughts, and he thought for a moment that perhaps his treads were lighter, his suit less clanky, and just as he was getting in the groove he glanced over at Darkwing Duck slinking through the shadows effortlessly. 

Skulking around like that… why, he did it so effortlessly he looked like some kind of… of villain! He sighed. "You know, Wingy, er, I mean! _Darkwing!_ The way you slink through the shadows… aren't you worried it will strike fear into the wrong hearts? I mean, don't take this the wrong way but… the Gizmosuit wasn't built to move that way because it was built for Justice! You can't just skulk around in the shadows like a villain and expect to be called a hero..."

"W-well, it's just what Darkwing Duck does! Swoop out of the shadows, you know! Besides, it’s important for not getting caught!" He scraped his hands down his face in irritation. He REALLY missed having LP here. "I'm not skulking, you know what, think about it this way! I don't have SUPER powers, so I have to be smarter than my villains, especially SUPER villains. I have to investigate and outwit them! Catch them by su-"

Behind them, there was the sound of metal thudding, and a splash. Something very watery had burst out of a nearby manhole. 

"—by surprise."

The suit beeped a proximity warning indicator next to his face moments before the water hit. Fenton's last thought, just after impact, was that he should probably tweak the sensitivity of that sensor to be more sensitive to rushing water in case of flood or tsunami.

The concentrated jet of water that hit him in the back of the suit knocked him off balance, but luckily his attempts to waterproof the circuit board paid off! He sat up from the cement floor slowly, looking up at their assailant. 

A voice boomed from all around them, sounding like an infomercial from some doomed alternate reality Universe: 

"Are you feeling a bit wet behind the ears? A little beat down?" An enormous watery hand rose up out of the main pipe. "Why not try a little pick-me-up with **The Liquidator**? Guaranteed to wipe you off the map!" 

The hand swiped at Darkwing Duck and lifted him up easily, while a second enormous jet of water formed into a mallet and went after Fenton, and he scrambled out of the way, further away from Darkwing, effectively separating them. 

So much for working as a team. 

"That's right, it's your _Doom™_ ! Available for a limited time only, courtesy of **The Liquidator** ! Ask about our troublesome hero team-up _super_ special! It’s twice the pain in half the time! Act fast and act _now_!”

 _Calamitous Villain!_ He already had them more or less surrounded and on the defensive! On top of that, Fenton had forgotten how obnoxious his weird speech patterns were too. Like he was trying to sell them their own doom… ugh... This was turning ugly fast! He was going to have to leave Darkwing to fend for himself for a moment until they could get closer together, beat him back somehow...

Great. So much for the plan. 

Soaked and separated from his would-be teammate, Darkwing scrambled up, determined not to have a repeat of last time. At least LP wouldn't get hurt this time? Was that even any consolation? _At least..._

That was what he was thinking as a watery hand smashed him onto the pavement. Desperate to avoid going round two, He swung a rope up onto a lamppost, pulling himself up and out of the next wave that crashed after him. 

"We're not interested in your scams, you slimy salesman! You’re all washed up!" He countered, shooting one of his cold blasts at the massive fist of water that was hurling towards Gizmoduck, effectively solidifying it into ice.

Gizmoduck readied himself, bracing for impact with a wall of water. Not with a solid chunk of ice! It hit him squarely in the chest with a THUNK, knocking him hard onto the cement near the electrical panel that controlled the water flow for all of the city. 

He reached up shakily and put a hand on the control panel, pulling himself back up and shaking cubes of ice off of the suit. He shot Darkwing a look, leaning heavily on the panel while he caught his breath. That ice really knocked the wind out of him, even with the suit's armor! Did this guy seriously have no concept of teamwork at _ALL_? He was going to get them both killed at this rate!

"Darkwing, be careful with that thing! It's not a toy! You could have..." 

His thought was interrupted by that booming voice again. "Has this ever happened to you? Team falling apart? Losing ground? No hope of victory? There's no chance of escape from **The Liquidator** , or your money back, and that's a lifetime limited warranty! And trust me folks! Your lifetime is VERY limited!"

"Oh, I'll show him a warranty return, I'm a VERY unsatisfied customer—" Darkwing grumbled, stumbling back to his feet. He slammed a smoke bomb down and rushed forward, but the OTHER fist, Liquidator's still-water one, slammed against his abdomen, knocking the wind out of him, and sent him back, slamming him into Gizmoduck.

The combination of water, egotistical partner, Gizmosuit, and control panel was an _electrifying_ one.

The shattered control panel sent a dangerous bolt of electricity thrilling through them both. It coursed through metal and fabric alike easily, using their bodies as a conduit to reach Liquidator’s watery, amorphous and _incredibly conductive_ body. Two duck-shaped skeletons flashed briefly as the electricity zapped them, while Liquidator retreated momentarily from the nasty shock.

Fenton breathed a sigh of relief, though every part of his body hurt. The circuit breaker he'd installed had stopped the suit from frying his brain when it shorted out. But if it shorted out, and the connection to his brain was interrupted, then that meant... 

"Oh no… this is...! It's cataclysmic! The suit, it can't handle a sudden flash-charge electrical load of that intensity on the neural circuits! It's going to..." The chest plate slid open and produced a pie. Lemon meringue, by Fenton's guess, though with the neural interface malfunctioning that's all it was: a guess. The suit smashed the pie directly into Darkwing Duck's static-charged face. 

Fenton winced.

"...malfunction."

Darkwing groaned, wiping the pie off of his face. "Why. Do. You. Even. _Have._ That. Function?"

The smoke of the shock was still wafting off of him as the water receded away from his feet, accompanied by mocking laughter. Darkwing was wet, shocked, winded, and now covered in pie. He groaned as he pulled himself to his feet, then pointed after Liquidator. "He's getting away, do you still work, you overgrown Buzz Lightyear toy? There's still a chance to get him! Let's get back up and go after him!"

"It's… it's to cream the enemy! Shut up! At least it has some accuracy and can predict where a target will be, even while malfunctioning, which is more than I can say for you! The villain is making a fool out of us because _you_ have no concept of teamwork! Justice isn't always about one duck, Darkwing! You have to get outside of that ego of yours for five minutes if we're gonna catch this guy!"

Fenton knew he was being pretty harsh, but in all fairness he could have easily been killed by Darkwing's carelessness just now! Even Drake, who loved Darkwing, who was arguably his biggest fan… if he were here, even _he_ would understand how that kind of foolhardy behavior from his favorite hero could be a problem when up against a serious threat! 

Liquidator's laughter echoed from all around them. "You're looking a little flushed, do-gooders! I've got just the thing for that! A **Liquidator** brand _Drowning™_ will wash all your troubles down the drain… permanently! Wow! He's here, he's there, he's EVERYWHERE! All you have to do is stay tuned and you too can experience the life-ending suffering that is **The Liquidator**!" 

The water began rapidly rising around them, pushing all other thoughts and feelings aside. This was no longer a matter of catching Liquidator. This was now a matter of survival… and escape! Gizmoduck stood up a bit unsteadily and tried to engage the helicopter on the suit, but it was no good. The neural interface was shot. The icy water was creeping up slowly but surely, and Fenton hated what he was about to say, but he hated the thought of drowning in the metal coffin of the suit even more. 

"Darkwing, listen. The suit isn't going to respond properly… the circuits are fried. It's up to you. What've you got for a plan to get us out of here?"

He grumbled as he paced, trying, scrambling, even, to come up with a plan. "I-I-I'm thinking! I'm not used to working like this, give me a second to-to-to... auugh! Okay! There has to be something... if you can't get up, you'll have to get him from below, I'll get him from above, I can um-um, um... do what I do best! Use my dramatic flair to distract him! Here! If your suit isn't responding, use one of these!" 

He opened one of the chambers for the gas gun, pulled out one of the freeze capsules, and put it in the open palm of the Gizmoduck suit. "Wait for my signal, okay? I've got this!"

_I hope._

Looking down at the capsule, he then glanced up and searched Darkwing Duck's face. 

Fenton realized that Dr. Gearloose searched his own face a similar way countless times before. He’d always wondered what it was Dr. Gearloose was looking for; now he had a pretty good idea of what it might be, though he couldn’t quite articulate it. 

He sighed, closing his fist carefully around the capsule and nodding. "Okay, Darkwing. I'll… I'll look for your signal. Just… be careful." 

He had to trust him. There wasn't much choice. The water was already almost past his wheel now. They didn't have a lot of time to think.

Darkwing took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. If LP had been there, he would’ve recalled a specific scene from a specific episode of the original Darkwing Duck show to help calm his nerves. Launchpad always seemed to know what to say when it counted.

But Launchpad wasn’t here.

It was just him and Gizmobrains. He had a feeling that nothing about this was going to be easy or comforting. Taking one more second to line up the shot, he fired the grappling hook up onto the flagpole, swinging up, he flung himself up onto the roof.

 _Whoa! That was so cool! It felt so cool!_ Yet he lost his balance, and gripped the flagpole with one arm as he pulled a smoke bomb out between two fingers, readying the signal. He just hadn't considered the possibility that Liquidator would follow him up.

"Well, well, well! We're having a big summer _blowout!_ Clearance sale on heroes! Everything must go!"

As the first wave of water crashed over him, Darkwing watched pathetically as the smoke bomb slipped from his fingers, falling uselessly to the ground below.

_Aw, phooey_. 

As he clung to the pole, he heard his phone go off. It was a text from Launchpad. 

_DW, totally nailed it, boss is a creep but need more time, heading 2 hideout for meetup, how r things?_

It was going horribly, really.

He one-handed typed his response. _Great, just gotta catch a wave. Meet u later!_

Back on the ground, Gizmoduck tapped a finger on the busted panel impatiently, scanning the top of the building for Darkwing's signal. The water was rising past his wheel-well now and he could feel it on the edges of his webbed feet, the frigid water seeping into the suit. 

"Ugh… what's taking him so long? Where could that egomaniacal..." Fenton froze as a terrible thought struck him, freezing him to the core worse than the ominous chill of the water leaking into his suit or the liquid nitrogen waiting in the freeze capsule in his fist.

Darkwing Duck wouldn't have abandoned him, would he...? Left him behind, cut him off as dead weight to save his own skin? Sure he was vain and self-centered and foolhardy… but he was still a hero… right?

He swallowed hard and searched the building's edge once more, letting out a yell of mixed concern and relief as he saw Darkwing toppling from the roof, caught in one of Liquidator's thick waves. Maybe if he could bypass the overload, put in the command manually… it wouldn't last long, but... He opened up the control panel on the suit and did some quick and dirty reprogramming, then slammed it shut, yelling the activation code to reboot the suit. It might give him enough basic functions for a few minutes, and it was dangerous… but he didn't need long!

“Blathering Blatherskite!" The suit sprang into action, rebooting, and Fenton deployed his helicopter helmet, swooping in and snatching Darkwing out of the air and throwing the capsule into the falling wave, temporarily freezing Liquidator, slowing him down. He landed rough, skidding and tumbling on the wet cement, and Darkwing was tossed from his arms. He pulled himself up, alarms blaring in his suit. Fenton sighed internally and muted them. 

_Yeah yeah, I know. Overload. It's dangerous. But it's now or never._

"We need to leave, Darkwing. Now. All of your plans have failed. My suit is dangerously close to overload. That freeze capsule won't slow Liquidator down for long... it's over. This mission is a failure."

"Fine! Fine!" He grumbled under his breath. "You're right, like you always have to be, mister tin can of justice. Let's get to safety and... I don't know, regroup, and plan to go after him tomorrow..."

There was an ominous cracking sound above as Liquidator began to thaw, and Gizmoduck grabbed Darkwing by the cape and half dragged, half carried him through the flooded area, kicking the Gizmosuit into turbodrive to put distance between them and the sleazy, sloshing slushy supervillain despite the alarms still flashing inside his helmet visor’s field of vision. 

Fenton gritted his teeth, dropping Darkwing in a heap unceremoniously as he caught his breath, leaning against the dirty brick wall of an alley. They’d finally reached what his sensors declared a safe distance away from Liquidator, but he knew it was only a temporary reprieve from the watery onslaught now that they’d angered the villain.

No. 

No, now that _he’d_ angered the villain. 

Despite his suit all but screaming in his ear, Fenton simply hit a button to mute the blaring alarms again and pointed an accusing finger at Darkwing, uncharacteristically perturbed.

"Are you utterly insane? Your theatrics could have very easily gotten us both killed! I... I trusted you! And I happen to know for a fact that there are citizens in this city that put a great deal of faith in you! If you're going to be such a great help to Liquidator then why don't you just slink your way back there and team up with him? You'd fit right in with your dark color scheme and your skulking and your monologues and your terror and your explosive devices!" 

Fenton knew he was being absurd and irrational and childish and his M'ma would be ashamed of him if she saw him acting this way. But he had almost gotten killed by this loon! And what's worse, Drake Mallard believed in this guy as a hero! If he knew the truth, that Darkwing Duck cared more about his ego than getting the job done… it would crush him! He felt like he had to say something, here and now!

Awkwardly attempting to rearrange his limbs into an upright position, Darkwing almost balled his fists with frustration, then, thinking better of it, decided to wring some of the water out of his cape instead. 

"This is why I DON'T go around facing villains head-on! I sneak around because I have to! Sure, it's theatrical but it's a tactic! Because I get dangerous! Because if you haven't noticed with your gazillion sensors, this city is dangerous! I'm not driving around town waking everyone up! And for the record, I didn't ask you to trust me! I never asked you to!"

"That's exactly your problem!” Gizmoduck shot back. “There may be an 'I' in 'Darkwing' but there's no 'I' in team! You have absolutely no concept of teamwork! Have you ever trusted another duck in your life? You can't expect the people of St. Canard to trust you to protect them if you act so selfishly! A hero is more than just one duck, Darkwing! A hero is a symbol of justice!"

"That's just it, bolts for brains! I don't _want_ to be a team with you! We have opposite tactics, opposite skills, opposite _everything!_ You're here because what, your sense of duty or whatever? I'm not just blowing hot air, you've been here before, haven't you figured out that you're not in Duckburg anymore? Things work differently here! When I'm facing villains it's better if _I'm_ the one that gets beat up, if it's me instead of the civilians! Being the hero makes me their target _instead_ of ordinary people! That's the whole point!"

"Their target? What do you mean target? You aren't even catching the criminals? You're just engaging in...in street fights? Putting citizens at risk with common, unnecessary violence?! I overestimated you, Darkwing Duck. I thought you were a hero, someone who fights for what's right, but you're just plain looking for a fight! You aren't out to inspire anyone or be the hope that pulls this city out of despair! You know what? You're right; We are opposites. Because I am Gizmoduck, and Gizmoduck is a hero. A symbol of peace and justice. You're nothing but a glorified vigilante thug looking for a headline."

"Is that really-! Seriously?!" Darkwing balked at him.

He was lost for words, he was _so_ steamed! How _DARE_ this guy talk about Darkwing Duck like that! He inhaled angrily, pulling his hand into a fist, but stopped himself, internally screaming at himself about how disappointed LP would be if he heard that he'd punched Gizmoduck, no matter how much the guy deserved it. 

Still, it hung in the air with all of his fury behind it. "No, you know what, you're right. You're a _~superhero~_ ." He said, almost mockingly. "You get to save the day and have parades and comics and be an action figure! Everybody _~loves~_ Gizmoduck! Gizmoduck _~never~_ loses! Fine! You can keep that, I'll stick to my gritty streets and skulking, welcome to Saint Canard, where sometimes, heroes lose!"

Gizmoduck… that was all anyone ever cared about wasn't it? But not Drake… he had seen Fenton right away, acknowledged him for his own talents, been so impressed by every little thing he did... And Drake put his faith, his hope into this...this... 

"What heroes? It's no wonder St. Canard is so overrun with crime! Maybe if Darkwing Duck could learn to get along with a partner, but then, what _idiot_ would want to team up with such a self-righteous egomaniac? They'd probably just end up getting hurt! No wonder you had to team up with me! Did everyone else take one look at you and run scared, Mister 'Terror That Flaps in the Night'?"

That stung, in a different sort of way. In a you-have-no-idea-how-great-Launchpad-is-how-DARE-you kind of way. 

In the way that sent him back to the panicked seconds trying to wake Launchpad in desperation. The fear that their botched encounter with Liquidator was all his fault. He didn't hold back, he punched him, right in his stupid robot chest. Which, obviously, was made of metal, and he reeled back, holding his hand as his knuckles pulsed with pain from the impact.

"You haven't listened to a word I've said all night! You roll into town like you own the place and for what? So everyone can love you? For glory? I don't know, maybe if I yell it at you, it'll get through all those layers of metal to your stupid cranium! Sometimes you lose, you deal with it! Shocking, right? But this isn't a comic book!"

Fenton winced, not from pain, but from watching the already alarmingly-high warning indicators on his status bars inch higher even with the relatively weak punch. 

"Ignoramus! Be careful! The Gizmosuit is very unstable right now! This is exactly the kind of reckless behavior I'm talking about. You deserve to work alone." He shoved him back, more to keep him away from the suit than to cause him any real harm, though the power of the suit still sent him sprawling. 

Fenton frowned down at him, the disappointment washing over him like so much pool-scented water. "Call me when you're ready to be a hero, Darkwing. Until then, I'll be around if St. Canard is in trouble." 

He was tense, prepared for this shady so-called do-gooder to get up and swing at him again, keeping a nervous eye on the indicator bars which were inching ever higher. 

He had to leave. 

Soon.

The suit could fail at any moment, forcing him to reveal himself… and he had a feeling that this violent duck of darkness was the last one he wanted knowing his secret identity. 

~☆~

Meanwhile, at the hideout under the bridge, Launchpad sat awaiting for some time. It was quite a while longer than their designated meet-up time, and he was beginning to worry. 

He decided there was no harm in calling DW, just to make _sure_ there wasn't any trouble.

Drake lay there for a few seconds, not so much seething as trying to digest the viciousness of Gizmoduck's words. 

_Of course_ Gizmoduck was one of those by-the-book types who _refused_ to see any other point of view! Bruised and irritated, he righted himself, beyond done with this conversation.

"Fine! You're right! Maybe it's just better if I—!" His phone began to ring, playing the 8-bit Darkwing theme from the videogame.

Prior to the mission, he’d muted all calls from everyone. Everyone except—Launchpad! He answered, his tone turning from angry to worried almost instantly, as he picked up the phone, shooting his grappling hook up onto a nearby building so he could swing away.

"Hey! You okay? I-I-I... I know it's late. Are you still… you know, at the meeting place?" He hoisted himself up, swinging away to a nearby building, racing back towards the hideout.

Fenton watched him rise up into the shadows, the alarms flashing in the suit shoving the frustration from his mind. 

As soon as he was sure Darkwing was safely out of sight, he slipped around the corner and disengaged the suit, collapsing to his knees. Still several blocks from the apartment, he knew he would still have to haul the malfunctioning suit home, aching and exhausted, and climb back in through the window before Drake noticed he was missing.

He sighed deeply, throwing the heavy bag over his shoulder and grumbling to himself every step of the way, the pain and frustration and humiliation of the night beginning to set in.

Darkwing entered the secret lair wet, shocked, tired, and bruised. Not only had Liquidator done a number on him, but Gizmoduck had definitely ensured that he'd hit the brick wall pretty hard when he shoved him. He miserably changed back into his normal clothes after an extended hug from LP that only ended when he insisted he needed to get back home before Fenton noticed that they were gone a little _too_ long for a job interview.

"LP, I... I don't know if I can do this! It's Gizmoduck! He's insufferable! Impossible to work with! We have zero coordination! I would rather be out there with you... would you BELIEVE he told me I _skulk_ around like a villain?!"

"What! He...he said that? That doesn't sound like… uh, like Gizmoduck! I can't believe he was so mean to you! You're the best at teamwork! I guess Gizmoduck must be… out of practice, saving Duckburg all by himself all this time." Launchpad frowned. He had really hoped the two of them would get along better on the mission! After all, Drake got along famously with Fenton every time they had seen each other. 

Launchpad felt a twinge of uncertainty tug at him, especially after hearing how poorly the mission went, but he kept his beak shut. 

After all, he had promised Fenton to keep his secret identity a secret… 

Fenton would tell Drake when he was good and ready, if that time ever came. 

In the meantime, Launchpad focused on trying to comfort Drake. "Aw, come on DW, he obviously has no idea what he's talking about! Nobody takes down a villain like you! You practically breathe teamwork! I mean, look at everything we've accomplished already!" He smiled at him reassuringly. "I wouldn't want anyone else as my partner. Not Gizmoduck, not Agent Double-O Duck. Nobody but you, DW." 

Drake sighed, wishing he could go back to the hug from a few minutes prior as he gathered up his messenger bag. He probably looked… rough. Really rough. It had been a very rough night. 

"That's just it, LP! I'm used to our teamwork. Because we, me and you—we are a team. I don't know how to do this without you..." He tried to shake himself off as he headed for the door. "But enough about my horrible night! How did your interview slash stakeout go?"

"It was… uh... well? Honestly it was just weird. It wasn't even an interview, I practically just had to show up and I got the job. The boss is… nice enough, I guess? But he's got this… vibe..." 

Launchpad spread his hands as he made an attempt to elaborate. However, the words escaped him, and he simply gestured vaguely in the air as he continued. 

"He didn't do anything suspicious, really… nothing villainous, I mean. He just explained the job and the schedule, but there was something about him… the guy gave me the heebie jeebies! He had this weird smile..." Launchpad shrugged. "I figure I ought to go back for my next shift and scope it out some more, see if I can dig up any dirt on the guy."

Drake nodded, as if glimpsing a small piece of how it all fit into some greater puzzle. "So you can go back and gather more intel, and I'll have to... figure out some way to get Gizmoduck to agree to help me again. Try to make nice, I guess. There's no way I can beat Liquidator alone. Blehhhh. This is terrible. Let's just go home."

Launchpad nodded, and as they headed back to the apartment all he could think of was how hard this must have been on Drake and Fenton both. He knew how awkward tonight was probably going to be, and how much he wanted nothing more than to just curl up with Drake in his arms and hold him close. He wanted to somehow make all of his frustrations melt away and magically vanish... 

_If only it were that simple,_ he thought, hoping that Drake wouldn't notice the blush that crept up onto his cheek feathers in the dim of the St. Canard evening. 

When did everything get so… complicated?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Jack Quacklemore._ Heh. I'm not saying that for any suspicious reason, it's just a fun name to say out loud. That is all. ~ Rai
> 
> Happy 100k words! Thanks for reading! ~ Mur


	12. Blathering Blatherskite!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning - This chapter contains: mentions of first aid, home chemical use (but nothing dangerous), and a minor/brief depressive episode.

Drake leaned against him for the drive home, comforted by Launchpad’s mere presence. He felt safe beside Launchpad, watching the city lights rush by. 

“LP, I… I don’t know how to do this without you. Even if Gizmoduck wasn’t a headache to work with, I mean me and you… how am I supposed to-to do anything? I’m… just a nerd in a costume trying to be something bigger. When you’re there, it’s Darkwing Duck! I—sorry, I’m not being fair to you. You’re doing your part and here I am complaining. S-sorry.” 

Even now, Gizmoduck’s words stung. LP was his partner! How _dare_ that stupid 80s-transformer-toy-looking joke of a hero—! His blood boiled at the thought, but more than rage, he felt frustration. His failure loomed over him like a wave about to break, threatening to wash him away in tears of regret and self pity. Instead he sat there, watching the city lights pass them by. As they ascended the stairs, all he could think about was collapsing into bed. It wasn’t even long until dawn. Sleep and a good shower, that was what he wanted. Maybe some time just laying in bed holding Launchpad’s hand. 

However, when they returned to the apartment, Drake hesitated at the door as he heard thudding and the window opening, followed by a soft thump. Was someone breaking in? Great, just what he needed to top off this miserable night. Tensing up, He moved one hand to the gas gun inside his bag as he unlocked the door with the other. But when he threw open the door, nothing was out of the ordinary. Well, nothing except the familiar duck trying to climb back in through the window.

Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera froze, just as his enormous duffel bag clanked noisily to the floor. With one leg still dangling outside, he was clearly caught in the act of breaking into the apartment through the window. Though he tried to act casual, he soon lost his balance and awkwardly tumbled the rest of the way in, landing in a tangled heap on top of his comically oversized bag. Their nervous, tawny-feathered friend looked terrible, and not just from the fall coming in. Exhausted, bruised, and surprisingly damp.

For once, Fenton found himself at a loss for words. Usually he had far too many. "I can explain! You see, uh, the thing is, Dr. Gearloose needed me to-to check in, or… that is, to _triangulate_ the coordinates of some… some beacons! Yes, right, beacons… around the city… to-to-to... help locate the Liquidator!" 

He looked down at his roughed-up appearance and rubbed the back of his neck. "This city isn't the friendliest after dark, is it?" He let out a short anxious laugh, scrambling up from the floor and dragging the giant duffel onto his aching shoulder with a sigh. "I-I'm okay though! Just a bit rattled, that's all! I didn't want to bother you two over it… you seemed er… busy." 

Drake forgot his exhaustion and desperation for bed almost instantly, sleepiness overwritten by a need to tend to his rattled friend. Locking the door behind Launchpad, he shut and bolted the window behind Fenton, then fetched the oversized tackle box that served as his first aid kit from the linen closet.

“Oh my gosh Fenton! You know you can always call me when there’s trouble, sheesh…” He gestured for his guest to sit on the couch, then dug around for the bottle of rubbing alcohol. “Actually… there’s something that’s been on my mind. Something I noticed, that… well, I mean, I’m a comic book nerd, I was bound to figure it out, you know, what with the super scientist thing and all. You’re like a genius and you make all this awesome technology… and, not to be totally super weird, but Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera, I think I know your secret.” 

Fenton froze. His mind raced in a panic. It wasn't that nobody else had ever figured out his secret; in fact, he needed to keep a running list! But Drake… if Drake figured out that he was Gizmoduck, then everything might be different now! Drake saw Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera for himself and actually _liked_ him! If he knew his secret, then…!

Darkwing Duck's mockery forced itself to the forefront of his mind. 

_Everybody ~loves~ Gizmoduck!_

But that was just it! Everybody _did_ love Gizmoduck. Nobody stopped for two seconds to think about Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera, or his ideas. But Drake wasn’t like that!

_Please, not Drake._

He blinked at Drake, his pupils shrinking in mild panic, and fiddled with his tie.

"My… secret?"

He grabbed Drake's shoulders firmly with both hands suddenly in an uncharacteristic fit of dramatics that might have rivaled another certain purple-loving duck. "Oh, Calamity! I should have known that I couldn't keep it from you, Drake! You're so good at figuring things out and finding solutions under pressure! Of course you've pieced it together! How _did_ you figure it out, though?"

But, for all his pained exhaustion, Drake Mallard just smiled and let out a long, relieved breath that he didn’t realize he was holding. He was more worried about how Fenton might react than he thought, and the relief at this relatively benign reaction was palpable.

“Well, I noticed a few things. You’re always building all of this cool equipment, but it’s _superhero_ equipment. You work with me to field test stuff that would usually lead to one of two answers, you’re a total supervillain and you’re plotting the demise of the whole world, or you’re the one who makes all of Gizmoduck’s tech. You said you knew him, after all. And you always come to town to help me out conveniently when Gizmoduck is in town. And, well, you trust me… which not a lot of people do. So, you’re Gizmoduck’s tech support!” 

Fenton searched Drake's face for a second, still gripping his shoulders with nervous energy, then devolved into relieved laughter. 

"Oh, you've… you've discovered my vile scheme!" He leaned back against the couch, putting a hand to his head, feigning despair. "You've discovered my aspirations to become a superpowered super scientist _supervillain_! There’s no pulling the space-age thermo-regulating insulator matrix down over your eyes, heh... yeah… you, uh, you've got a detective's instinct, Drake. You've got me. Yes, I am… responsible for the Gizmosuit. But it's uh… it's top secret so…"

Meanwhile, Drake was trying to shove all of Gizmoduck’s cutting words out of his mind. To top it all off, he totally felt like a jerk for punching the suit now, knowing that it was the result of Fenton’s hard work! That Gizmo-jerk did _not_ deserve such a cool guy working on his suit! He sank down next to Fenton on the couch after pouring some rubbing alcohol onto a washcloth for each of them, passing one to his companion. 

“Here. In case you’re bleeding anywhere… and… sorry for figuring it out, but your ~ _secret identity_ ~ is safe with me! You know I’m cool. Besides, who would even believe me if I told anybody? Aside from Launchpad!”

Hearing his name, Launchpad glanced over his shoulder at them from the kitchen with a little wave before turning his attention back to the stove. He had excused himself to the kitchen, and busied himself preparing a big pot of mac & cheese; he didn't trust himself to not make this already complicated conversation more complicated. He especially worried about the awkward subject of his own knowledge of Fenton’s… _secrets_ coming up, so mac & cheese seemed like the safest contribution he could make. Everyone liked mac & cheese, right? 

Back in the living room, Fenton held the washcloth against a small scrape on his arm (though he had a feeling most of the damage was bruising or… internal), and smiled at Drake. 

"Thanks. But I must confess, while we're on the topic of secret identities… I, too, have harbored some suspicions about you and what sort of research requires _field testing_ and the kind of on-the-fly lab conditions you have here. I don't know why I didn't see it sooner, with how much Darkwing Duck merchandise is around here. Not to mention the nearly encyclopedic knowledge that you and Launchpad share about that caped crusader; it’s really rather impressive when you consider the sheer _volume_ of data involved, but I digress!” He began counting off items on his fingers as he listed them. “I mean, there’s the gas gun prototype, the purple decor, the field testing notes, the dramatic flair… the only logical conclusion is that you're developing crime-fighting gear for Darkwing Duck!"

Drake adopted a tone that sounded like purposefully-bad mock play-acting. 

“What? No way… _me?_ A Darkwing Duck fan? No, I’m totally a _super legit_ chemist just making smoke bombs in my kitchen for fun!” He gave him a sideways smile, wiping a scrape on the side of his face. His feathers were still a little singed from the electric shock too, but that would have to wait for a shower.

“Okay, you got me. Yeah. I-I-I mean, it’s cool! And I appreciate that you help me so much. I don’t actually know a ton of chemical formulas or anything either. I treat them like recipes, and I keep it all labelled, and also color-coded, and there’s a bunch of notes in the cabinet, reminders, mostly, to help keep everything, ah, safe. Plus the smoke bombs I’m developing are actually made out of old gachapon capsules! I’ve got a ton laying around from my collection anyway.” Drake realized he was doing his overexcited nerd rambling thing again and stopped talking, sinking down into the couch cushions once more. Stupid Gizmoduck’s _stupid_ scolding made him feel like he annoyed everyone around him, even his friends. 

But Fenton gave him an awkward smile and put an encouraging hand on his shoulder. "I find them ingenious! Not to mention a clever upcycling of plastic waste! But um, Drake… listen… I know you really believe in this Darkwing Duck, but… I-I've heard some things about him. I don't want you getting hurt, you know, _really hurt,_ just because your boss can't see how important you are."

“My...boss?” Drake shot him a puzzled look. “Oh- _OH!_ No, um, you mean why I got hurt? No, no, that’s _me_. If someone’s in trouble, I know I have to get them _out_ of danger! That’s the whole point, right? I think I prefer it that way; it’s better if I’m the one that gets beat up, if it’s me instead of someone defenseless. Because I can handle it!”

Fenton met his gaze and held it for a second before sighing. "That's a pretty noble way of looking at it, but I still worry about you. Don't think I haven't noticed how often you get injured, and Gizmoduck has had some pretty harsh things to say about his conduct. Did you know that he threw a punch at the Gizmosuit tonight? I should know, I had to stop the darn thing from overloading and blowing up half the city." 

He threw up his hands in frustration. "It's just-! I'm sorry, Drake, I know he's your hero, I just don't know what you see in the guy. From what I've heard he's basically a glorified vigilante."

Drake knew Fenton’s assessment wasn’t unjustified. He _was_ the one who flubbed the mission, after all. He felt an extra pang of guilt when Fenton mentioned him punching the suit. 

_Oh, and of course Gizmoduck wouldn’t admit that he retorted by throwing him against a wall._ _Typical._

Yet, because of him, Fenton had more work to do.

The events of that night kept replaying in his mind, and he felt helpless. Useless. What could he say? He could always lie, but lying to Fenton felt wrong. “You’re right though. Darkwing Duck _is_ a vigilante. Take Gizmoduck for example. Gizmoduck is out in public, and everyone loves him, right? He can announce himself as a symbol of justice! Gizmoduck always wins. He’s that kind of hero. But Darkwing Duck is a hero for _me_ , because he’s the hero for losers. He loses. A lot. He doesn’t have any superpowers, and he makes mistakes. He doesn’t get any glory. It feels realistic to me? You know, welcome to Saint Canard, where sometimes, heroes lose.”

Fenton was quiet for a minute, pulling at a few stray feathers near the bottom of his hair anxiously as he considered Drake’s words. How many countless mistakes had Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera made as a clumsy, nervous intern? How many times was he forced to beg Dr. Gearloose for forgiveness? "Perhaps you're right. You know, ‘when there's trouble, you call Gizmoduck.’ _Nobody_ calls Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera, nobody but _you_ , Drake. Maybe I was too harsh on Darkwing. Besides…" He leaned close to Drake and lowered his voice.

"Between you and me, the Gizmosuit body cam showed that Gizmoduck retaliated against that punch by shoving Darkwing into a wall, so… I wouldn't exactly say it was one sided…" 

_Ha! At least Fenton knew it!_ Fenton was on his side! It took a surprising amount of self-restraint for Drake to not jump up and punch the air victoriously. He contained himself before he replied. "Thanks. If someone had to figure it out, I’m glad it’s you. I trust you."

Fenton was touched. "You trust me? That really means a lot.”

As he spoke, Drake pulled his knees up to his chest, hugging them close. "Well... yeah. Trust is sort of complicated. What's trusting somebody? You're there to catch them, and you believe that they'll be there to catch you. But, I-I-I don't know, someone not trusting you could also be their way of showing that they’re afraid they'll let you down. That they might not meet your expectations, not be able to catch you... I know I worry that I can't always catch the people I care about..."

Fenton could see that there was something really sincere about Drake Mallard, that he stood for what he believed in.

Fenton realized in that moment that he was one of the things that Drake believed in, and it struck him, making his breath catch in his throat. He balked at him blankly for a few seconds, trying to think of the right thing to say, and finally he just put a hand on Drake's back gingerly. 

"For what it's worth… I think I trust you. I trust you enough that I begged Dr. Gearloose to let me come here. I don't know if Darkwing Duck has earned my trust, or-or honestly if Gizmoduck even has, but you… if I can trust anyone to have my back in a crisis, it's Drake Mallard."

Drake just looked at him with a vacant gaze _._

"You really don't think I'm too dangerous? I mean, I know Launchpad sticks around but before he decided to stick around here with me, he was crashing airplanes. And submarines. And helicopters. And zambonis, and—you get the idea."

Fenton couldn't help but laugh.

"That's right! You've never actually been to Dr. Gearloose's lab, have you? Danger is, ah, well… it's just part of the job description. If it's not something exploding or rupturing or tearing a hole in the space/time continuum, it's one of his 'misunderstood' robots turning evil and destroying everything. Trust me, you're not too dangerous. You're a breath of fresh air compared to that, even _with_ the smoke bombs and kitchen explosions..." 

As if it were a prophetic statement, Launchpad called from the kitchen. "I hope everyone is hungry! Mac & cheese is almost ready! Just gotta add the secret ingredient!" 

There was the sound of him rustling in the cupboard, a couple moments of vaguely innocuous silence, then a quiet 'oh no' followed by a muffled explosion as he shoved the pot lid over the top of the violently reacting pot of pasta. He peeked out of the kitchen, covered in a fine orangish powder and scratched at his face and neck, distracted, giving Drake a guilty and nervous look. "Hey uh, the orange stuff in the cupboard with no label… that was… not cheese powder, I'm guessing...?"

"Was it in the cupboard that says ‘ _gas gun supplies, DO NOT EAT’_ on the inside of the door?" Drake asked, leaning over the side of the couch to see into the kitchen.

Launchpad looked even guiltier and shrugged, rubbing the back of his head; his sheepish grin betrayed him before he even spoke. "Maybe...?" He glanced at the stove, sighed, and pulled out his phone. "I'm gonna, uh… order take out from that 24-hour place."

"Hey, don't sweat it, LP. Maybe we could all use a break. Come sit down! Takeout is fine by me!"

Fenton relaxed against the couch and smiled to himself at this minor bit of domestic chaos. In a strange sort of way it reminded him of home. He paused for a moment to wonder whether that ‘home’ feeling was associated with the lab, his M’ma’s apartment, or McDuck Manor, and realized that each of those places had its own special _flavor_ of chaos. 

He was musing on this as Drake turned back to him with a lopsided smile. 

"You know, I called you this morning, asking what you knew about liquid nitrogen because I don't know anything about how to handle the stuff, and you think _we_ are less dangerous?"

"Oh, it's _very_ dangerous! Dr. Gearloose was overwhelmingly against me bringing any here! He only allowed it because he knew Gizmoduck would be here, and I had to promise him I wouldn't let you actually touch it directly, and there was a lot of actual begging involved, but I'm honored to be able to help out any way I can!"

"Gizmoduck, huh…?" Drake fell quiet for a spell. He was, honestly, a little jealous of how much people loved him. Okay, more than a little. A lot jealous. The hero who could do no wrong, who everyone believed in, was the same hero who thought Darkwing acted more like a villain. "So... why do you believe in Gizmoduck...?"

Fenton's face changed at the mention of Gizmoduck. A complicated expression crossed his features, a mixture of hesitation, resentment and admiration. "Gizmoduck is-is… I guess you could say it's not _Gizmoduck_ I believe in. I believe in what he stands for, sure… protecting the citizens of Duckburg, making the city safer. It's-it's always been something I've aspired to do; making the world a better place with my ideas, with science! My M'ma always said: 'Fenton, _pollito_ , every duck has the right thing to do engraved inside… you just need to dig deep enough to find it.' I think that's… that's what I believe in. If Gizmoduck can help me dig down deep enough to find the right thing to do, no matter what, then… he can be my symbol of justice."

Drake was visibly impressed. "Wow, that's... really cool of you. Gizmoduck is really lucky to have you!"

Fenton didn't know how to reply to that, so instead of using his brain he awkwardly stood there, grinning like an idiot. "Oh? Thanks, um..." He glanced at the duffel bag that contained the suit, let out a little sigh, then stood up, intending to begin the long process of making repairs to get ready to go after Liquidator again. However, as he stood, he had a sudden bout of vertigo, the room spinning as he collapsed back onto the couch, putting a hand to his head. 

"Whoa! Are you okay? Maybe we need to just chill tonight. It is _super_ late. We can just... relax, eat takeout, sleep, then get ready to conquer crime tomorrow!" He gestured grandly, then frowned, unimpressed by his own words. "Conquer crime... eh, it's alliterative, but not enough. They're both hard C's, but it needs more oomph."

Fenton peered at Drake blearily, a bit dazed. "Conquer that calamitous criminal before he can carry out another catastrophic crisis?"

"Whoa, yes! That's really good!" Drake's eyes lit up. "Oh, yeah, let me... get you a cup of water." 

He got up and made his way over to the sink, filling a mug with water from the filter as he willed his bruised knuckles to work properly. Oh, he _really_ should not have punched the robot armor suit. He could see the redness that would blossom into ugly bruises through the feathers. He was sure his back wasn't much better. Granted, he hadn't spent all those years building up a disgustingly strong constitution for nothing. "Here. It's not much, but... you look really rough. Let's take it easy tonight."

Fenton sat up, accepting the glass gratefully, though he didn't overlook Drake's own injuries. "You know, you're looking pretty rough yourself. Why don't we all turn in?" 

He shot Launchpad, who just returned with an armful of takeout, an apologetic look. "Cold takeout is the breakfast of champions, right?" 

Fenton briefly considered taking a shower, but the thousand-yard stare that followed his sip from the glass reminded him that he had had just about enough water for one night, and he decided against it. Instead, he set the glass down and flopped onto the couch, the exhaustion claiming him.

Launchpad smiled and gave him a thumbs up, taking it all in perfect stride, shoving the takeout in the fridge and setting about cleaning up the mess he had made in the kitchen. In the time it took him to finish that task, wash up, and get changed into something comfortable, Fenton had already long since fallen into a deep sleep. Launchpad pulled the couch blanket up over their guest, tucking him in soundly, then crept into the bedroom, fully expecting to find Drake in a similar state.

Drake sat cross-legged atop the bed with one arm resting on the windowsill, head propped up in his palm, gazing out at the street. It wasn’t much of a view; but he wasn't really looking at anything, anyway. Even his reflection looked miserable. Fenton had cheered him up a bit, taking the edge off of what Gizmoduck said, but... 

_What idiot would want to team up with a self-righteous egomaniac?_

He didn't look up as Launchpad entered.

"It was my fault, LP. Gizmoduck's suit overloading, getting soaked and zapped, Liquidator getting away, I even lost my cool and went off on Gizmoduck when I _know_ heroes are supposed to work together. I promised you I'd do my best. I don't feel like I kept that promise."

Launchpad lingered by the door for a moment, surprised to see Drake still awake. His words threatened to break his heart. He knew that whatever happened, whatever went wrong, Drake always gave his best. So what if he made a few mistakes? He walked over slowly, climbing onto the bed beside him and pulling him into his arms. It seemed like the right thing to do, without even saying a word. 

"So you had a rough night, DW. That doesn't mean you didn't try your best. Maybe you made a few mistakes… you got knocked down, singed… you weren't exactly triumphant..." He held him closer, resting his chin against Drake's shoulder lightly as he spoke. "But that's never stopped Darkwing Duck before. He always gets back up, no matter what. Why is this time any different?"

"Because… I feel like I should have done better. I should have made you proud. This could have been a cool crossover episode, but I got in my own head and messed it up!" He buried his face in Launchpad’s chest, grumbling to himself, his words muffled by the fabric of the tee shirt, barely intelligible. "I even made a ton of extra work for Fenton! I'm not Darkwing Duck, I’m a Darkwing _dork_!"

Launchpad stroked his hands over Drake's back slowly and brought him close against his chest, trying to comfort him. "Come on, DW… is that what this is about? You think I'm not proud of you...?" 

He buried his fingers in Drake's cheek feathers, tilting his head gently so he had a better view of his face. 

"Listen, you're out there risking your tailfeathers and teaming up with Gizmoduck, of all people, against a villain that has _actual_ superpowers! Drake, you had your ribs broken by a _non-superpowered_ villain not too long ago! The fact that you're brave enough to face all of that and keep trying, even when the odds are against you..." 

He took Drake's hand with his free one, interlacing their fingers. His voice softened as he continued, speaking to him with a delicate tenderness. 

"I couldn't be prouder of you. You're exactly what it means to be Darkwing Duck; you always do what's right, no matter the cost, no matter the danger, no matter how many times you lose. You get back up."

Drake squeezed his hand gently, eyes quivering. How was it that Launchpad always, _always_ knew exactly what to say? He was the real hero in Drake's heart. There was no question. His hand on his face... his gentle, caring gaze... lit by the dim city lights filtering through the window... 

He wondered if he might puke for a second. Not from any injury; he’d spent his entire adolescent life holding _that_ back. It was the sheer emotion that he was feeling just now that made his stomach flip and roll. He felt vaguely seasick. "Have I told you lately that you're the coolest duck in the world...?"

Launchpad tore his gaze away from Drake's face, an embarrassed laugh escaping his beak as he felt the familiar heat of shame rising to his cheeks. 

"Yeah, so cool I can't even handle the mac & cheese..." 

He rested his forehead against Drake's shoulder gently and sighed, then chuckled softly. 

"DW, what are we doing? We're a mess, aren't we?" But he still held his hand and squeezed it lightly. He noticed again how he smelled, his natural scent making his heart race, even though it was buried beneath the pool-chemicals and singed feathers of the night. "Still, though.. .I wouldn't want to be… anywhere else."

"Hah, that's okay. Eventually I won't store that stuff in the kitchen." He nuzzled his cheek feathers against Launchpad's face on his shoulder. "I kinda wonder if you might need glasses? I feel like that might solve a lot of your problems. You're always holding stuff awful close to your face to read it anyway."

The thought had never occurred to Launchpad before. "Are the words not supposed to be so… _squiggly_ from a distance?" 

He was quiet for a moment, considering. Drake always had an answer, sometimes before he even worked out what the problem was. He admired that about him. Leaning back into bed, he pulled Drake gently down with him, holding the blanket open like a welcome invitation. He managed the whole maneuver without releasing Drake's hand, a feat he was fairly proud of, privately. 

Drake climbed in beside him, resting his face against their joined hands. "You're supposed to be able to read them, yeah. Actually, that would kind of explain a lot." 

"I think you need a good night of rest, and someone to stay by your side and chase away fear." Launchpad gave him an awkward sort of half-grin, holding their intertwined hands close to his chest. "I know I'm kind of new to the whole chasing away fear part, but tonight that person could be me. I'll stay here and hold your hand, and you can sleep well knowing you're safe and tomorrow we'll worry about Gizmoduck, and Liquidator, and all of that. How does… how does that sound?"

Drake realized that laying like this put his face close to Launchpad’s heart, and he briefly wondered if he could hear his heartbeat if he closed his eyes and listened. 

_Okay, maybe that was a weird thought. You're being weird and intense again, Drake! Quick, say something normal!_

"That sounds... like maybe I’ll sleep now and dream til tomorrow." Drake mumbled.

Launchpad smiled at this and wrapped his other arm around him, holding him close, and he felt the same sort of peace and rightness that he had that first night they’d accidentally fallen asleep curled next to each other on the couch. He was almost certain that Drake could feel his heart pounding, despite how… completely _perfect_ this felt. He took a deep breath and swallowed the utterly absurd urge to kiss Drake Mallard goodnight, opting to squeeze his hand gently instead. 

"Goodnight, DW."

"Good night, LP." 

The full body tiredness that enveloped Drake’s senses was enough to drag him to sleep whether he wanted to sleep or not, and he barely stirred until the sun had long since risen.

~☆~

In the morning, or early afternoon, as it were, Launchpad was roused from slumber to find himself curled around Drake, cradling him close, their fingers still intertwined. He dared not get up for fear of disturbing Drake; he looked so peaceful, curled up against his chest, sleeping soundly, the early afternoon sun spilling over him from the window. 

Beside him, Drake awoke slowly, and the sun piercing through the window only made him cuddle close to Launchpad, not wanting to get up. The smell of the coffee lured him into a semi-awake state, until he realized, in his tired brain, that he was still laying next to LP, so LP couldn't be making coffee. 

_SOMEONE WAS IN THE APARTMENT!_

He sat up suddenly, but in his lack of food from the previous night, his vision went splotchy with black, and he leaned forward on the bed. The couple seconds he needed to get his vision back calmed him down from the initial panic long enough for him to recall that Fenton had stayed the night. 

Right. Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera. Their friend. He groaned and rubbed his face, then grabbed a shirt and ducked into the bathroom to shower and scrub off the grime from the night before, feeling significantly better despite a couple of blossoming bruises. Still, despite his finally-somewhat-wakeful state, he stopped short upon entering the living room. 

"Whoa."

Fenton, refreshed and inspired by his conversation with Drake the night before and internally scolding himself for sleeping past noon, was moving like he was running out of time. He’d woken up, rolled up his sleeves, put on a pot of coffee, (after downing a scalding cup of hot water) and immediately gotten to work. Having less to hide made it a _much_ simpler process. 

First, he’d emptied the duffel bag and disassembled the Gizmosuit, laying out the pieces neatly, categorizing them by size, shape and function. Then there was the matter of organizing his tools, of course. This claimed most of the surfaces in the living room. He was on his third cup of coffee, trying to decide which magnetic socket wrench to use when he looked up and noticed Drake staring at him.

"Ah! Salutations and illumination my friend! Sorry about the mess… I uh, I needed a bit more space than anticipated. But there's a fresh pot of coffee on! Just, er… be careful where you step, if you could."

"Uh, Yeah, morning... is it morning? I left my phone on the charger." Drake tiptoed across the floor almost comically, carefully stretching from bare space of floor to bare space of floor. All of this stuff looked very delicate and _very_ expensive. 

He poured himself some coffee, staring blearily into space for a few seconds until he remembered the takeout Launchpad bought the night before, pulling out some chopsticks and a paper container from the fridge, shoveling fried rice into his mouth almost robotically. 

"This is… wow. Talk about tiny pieces. I've seen full-size mecha model kits with less parts. Well, full size as in 1/8th scale."

Launchpad emerged from the bedroom, gazed around at the expensive, fragile-looking equipment, and froze. His pupils shrank and he turned on his heel, and walked back into the bedroom, shutting the door behind him firmly. From within came a muffled 'Nope!' 

Fenton had put on a magnifying spectacle and was carefully adjusting a small piece of equipment with a tiny screwdriver, one eye squeezed shut while the other focused on his task. 

"It's incredibly complex, but once you've taken it apart and put it back together a few times it becomes almost second nature. I could practically do it in my sleep at this point..."

"Wow... now I kinda feel bad for asking you to make stuff! You really have your hands full, huh?" Fenton was amazing! Half baked, his webbed foot! He just took apart and was rebuilding a crime fighting robot suit! On his living room floor! Drake suddenly felt very much like he had done absolutely nothing in his twenty-nine years of life. He really was on a whole separate level! Of course he would be friends with a cool world-adventuring pilot like Launchpad!

Fenton looked up from the adjustments he was making, flipping up the magnifier and shaking his head with a bemused smile. "Nonsense, Drake! Honestly, this suit is my job, it's work but it's also my sort of… passion project, I guess you could say; it's the one thing Dr. Gearloose truly gives me free reign on. Helping you is more like a hobby. It's fun! Problem solving, building prototypes… it keeps me sharp in my free time!"

"Wow. I have never done anything in my life ever." Drake deadpanned, shoving some fried rice into his mouth.

Fenton tilted his head at him for a minute, like he didn't quite understand what he’d meant by that comment, then got distracted, picking up a sophisticated-looking tool that appeared to be some sort of magnet-based cold welding device. He began piecing together bits of the suit. 

"Hey, is uh… is Launchpad alright? He looked a bit pale..."

Drake looked around the room, trying to find a Launchpad-safe zone. "I think I know what's up. This is a lot of very... delicate stuff, and LP is sort of accident prone." He impaled the contents of the takeout box with his chopsticks and tiptoed back across the room to the bedroom. He knocked, grimacing at his bruised knuckles. "Hey, LP? You okay...?"

Launchpad was sitting on the bed, hugging his knees to his chest. He looked up at the door as Drake knocked. 

He climbed off the bed and opened the door a crack, glancing over Drake's shoulder at the minefield of equipment before searching Drake's face for a moment. He heaved a long sigh and pointed at the living room. "That… is no place for Launchpad McQuack."

With that, he shut the door, returning to his spot on the bed, trying his very best not to sulk. He was determined not to break anything or get in the way today.

Drake lingered at the door, knocking on it again. “That’s okay, LP. Really. Nobody’s asking you to uh… help repair the super-expensive-looking crime-fighting robot suit. I know I’m not. That’s not your brand of getting dangerous, and that’s okay. Do you want some breakfast? Or coffee with cereal in it? I’ve been eating the takeout you got last night. It’s good cold, do you want some…?”

Launchpad came and stood on the other side of the door, hesitating for a moment. He leaned his forehead against the wood, considering.

"Uh… coffee, I guess? The usual way. You know how I like it…" he mumbled through the door. 

“Sure, sure, just a sec!”

Navigating back across the living room to the kitchen to make LP’s coffee was… a bit stressful, but Drake managed, and when he knocked on the door again he was holding a “Let’s Get Dangerous” mug with sugary cereal and marshmallows floating in it. 

“Sorry if I uh, woke you this morning. I had this moment where I forgot we had company so I thought someone was breaking in…” 

Drake ran the sentence through his brain again, the sentiment of his own words striking him with all the force of a domestic, love-sick anvil to the head: I forgot we had company.

 _We_.

He could get _very_ used to Drake Mallard and Launchpad McQuack as a ‘we’.

Fenton looked up from adjusting the tension on a large coil spring with an expression of mild alarm when he heard this, but became distracted when the spring over-tightened and leapt out of his hand, and he had to scramble to catch it with a yelp of surprise. 

Meanwhile, Launchpad opened the door, accepting the coffee with a smile of gratitude. When the spring escaped Fenton's grasp he jumped in surprise, hustling Drake into the bedroom and shutting the door behind them, as though his mere presence had somehow caused the incident. 

"Aw! Don't worry, you didn't wake me earlier! I uh…" He realized there wasn't a non-awkward way to say 'I was watching you sleep this morning' and he hesitated. "I woke up, but I didn't want to wake _you_ up… so I was… waiting. For you to wake up." He took a long sip of his coffee so he wouldn't have to say any more words about waking up. 

“Oh. Well, er, as long as I didn’t disturb you! Say, LP,” He rubbed his neck awkwardly. “Thanks for last night. I think I really needed that. I’ll try to formulate a plan today where… I really don’t let you down. It’s still not the same without you.”

"Just do what feels right, DW." He smiled at him, then glanced at the Darkwing Duck supplies near the closet, an idea slowly forming in his head. He took another sip of his coffee. "I think I might head into work early today, see if I can get some investigating done before my shift starts. That is, if you two will be okay here without me for the day? You both are lookin’ a little molted."

This brought a smile to Drake’s face. “I think Fenton is safer than either of us! I’ll take care of him, though.” 

Looking around the room, it was indeed pretty obvious what they were up to, with the whole… Darkwing Duck thing. He awkwardly tried to shove a bunch of the evidence into his messenger bag, but stopped, sorting through his infiltration gear. As far as the gas gun went, the capsules inside hadn’t gotten wet, which did mean it was water tight, but he knew he would have to make more smoke bombs today and make sure none of the functionality had been ruined in their aqueous beat down the previous night. 

“I’ve got lots of gear prep to do for tonight before I face Liquidator again… but don’t be afraid to call if there’s trouble!” 

Finishing his coffee with a gulp, Launchpad set the mug down and nodded, then reached into the bag holding the Darkwing Duck supplies and rifled around for a moment before pulling out the grappling hook. He shook a few drops of water out of it, then held it up, grinning. "Mind if I borrow this for today?" 

“Uh, sure. I don’t think you need it to uh, work at a toy store though…” He hesitated. “Do you? I mean, I’ve never worked at one, is there something dangerous I’m missing out on…?” 

Launchpad just smiled enigmatically and tucked it under his arm, poking his head out of the bedroom door for a second to wish Fenton good luck on his work today. Fenton was trying to very carefully line up two tiny pieces that formed a minuscule joint, and he thanked him without even looking up from his task. Satisfied, Launchpad closed the bedroom door, scooping Drake into a hug. 

"Don't worry, you won't be missing much. The real excitement is around here, anyway." He chuckled, then gazed at Drake for a moment and softened. "Get ready to do your best, DW. It's gonna be great. Old Licky won't know what hit him!" 

With that he climbed on the bed, nodded a farewell and slid open the window that Drake had been forlornly gazing out of the night before. Climbing up and crouching onto the windowsill, he fired the grappling hook, then turned and waved to Drake. 

"See you after work, DW!"

“Later, LP… good luck?” Drake stood there in a vaguely dazed confusion holding the coffee mug. If this was a normal duck’s life, they’d probably think it was wild. His crush friend, who slept in his bed the previous night, just downed a cup of coffee filled with cereal, left to go to “work” out of his bedroom window, with a grappling hook, while a super scientist sat on his living room floor surrounded by disassembled parts of a mechanical superhero robot suit, casually putting it back together like it was no big deal. 

Yeah. _Totally_ cool and normal. 

He hefted the damp Darkwing gear bag over one shoulder before returning to the living room. 

In a way, it was! A cool _new_ normal!

“Hey Fenton! I think it’s just you and me today.” 

Fenton looked up, then at the front door, a bit surprised. He’d really been absorbed in his work hadn't he? He didn’t even notice Launchpad leave!

"Oh! Well, that's okay! Two genius minds at work, in one space… I'd better brew more coffee!" He chuckled, then glanced around. "I really got a bit carried away, didn't I…? Do you need me to clear a path?"

“Uh… I got it, one sec!” Drake expertly shimmied along the wall until he was close enough to a gap between the parts that littered the floor, jumping across until he landed in an open spot, then did a small flourish as though he were sticking the landing at a gymnastics competition. “Ta-da! Um… here, I’ll sit on the floor with you. Solidarity.” 

He sat down a few feet away from Fenton, pulling some of the waterlogged equipment out of his bag and laying it out on the floor, organizing the smoke bombs and gas gun pellets in neat rows, inspecting each to see if the seal had been damaged in any way, or that water had gotten inside any. 

“Looks like Darkwing didn’t do too much better than your buddy did last night, either. This stuff is soaked.” 

Fenton sighed and put down the empty pie tin he was holding, looking around at the disassembled suit like it was a disobedient child that he wanted to scold. 

"I don't understand it. Gizmoduck is supposed to be a paragon of peace! Why was it so hard for him to get along with Darkwing for _one_ mission?" 

Fenton knew why. Because he had lost his cool and let himself be quick to judge, made assumptions without evidence. What kind of symbol of justice behaved that way? He thought of the way his M’ma would have scolded him if she saw him shove Darkwing into that wall and raked his hands down his face, groaning. 

"I've got to do better! This is unacceptable! I didn't beg Dr. Gearloose to let me do this just so I could… ugh…" he muttered to himself. He tossed a wrench in frustration, scattering several pieces of the suit, knocking the helmet askew so that the visor reflected his face. 

"B-" 

The suit twitched and he froze. 

"I-I mean uh—awww, _phooey_! It's just so… frustrating!" 

“Hey, hey, whoa… it’s okay. Don’t beat yourself up over it! And it seems like the suit doesn’t like it that you’re beating yourself up over it, either.” He tossed a dud of a smoke bomb up in the air and caught it, then tried slamming it on the floor, where it just rolled pathetically across the carpet, rolling to a stop uselessly next to one of the disembodied Gizmoduck gloves. 

“It’s like in those big superhero group team-up movies. They’re total opposites, right? So they spend the first half of the movie fighting about how to do things ‘right’.” He picked up the wrench from where it had fallen, offering it back to Fenton along with a small, helpless smile as he continued. “...Maybe I was thinking about it wrong. Maybe they’re both right. They’re just not realizing that. Being opposites means you can work together and cover each other’s weaknesses, and lift up each other’s strengths. But that’s if it was me and you, not the two of them. I mean, you somehow taught me all this cool chemistry stuff so I can make sleep powder and itch powder and my own smoke bombs, but I don’t know the first thing about any of this! I mean, you’d er, tell me if I was a terrible student, right?”

Accepting the wrench, Fenton just gazed at it for a long moment, then smiled warmly. He let out a short, joyful laugh and nodded. 

"You're an astounding student, actually! Very astute! I wish half the lab staff paid attention to my ideas and took notes the way you do! And hey, maybe once I get this pile of bolts off the floor you could show me some of those moves you've got! Your dexterity is very impressive, if I do say so myself." He grinned. The idea of sharing ideas, of teaching each other things they never thought possible in their limited world view. It was exhilarating! Why couldn't Darkwing Duck be someone as cool and understanding and easy to get along with as Drake Mallard?

“Well, probably because I think I’d put ‘tech guy’ kinda low on my uh, actual set of skills? I mean, I always wanted to be a stunt duck, just like Jim Starling, the guy who originally played Darkwing on the TV show. Of course, he wasn’t a _real_ superhero, but it’s why I became an actor. Now I’m just trying to find my own way to chase my dreams. Anyway, I don’t know why people don’t pay attention to your ideas, you’re super smart! And your inventions? They’re really cool! It’s only thanks to you that I can make all this stuff for DW.”

He shrugged, tossing another wet smoke bomb aside, but when it hit the floor it partially went off, fizzing a small puff of purple smoke upwards in a tiny plume. “Really? Soaking wet, and you still go off?” He blew a raspberry and reached over to pick it up.

"Interesting...I wonder if certain ratios of the powder have hydrophobic properties...?" He glanced around the apartment, something suddenly occurring to him. He put his wrench down slowly and tilted his head, narrowing his eyes at the walls briefly as though puzzling something out. He looked at Drake finally, a hesitant expression on his face. "Hey, uh, I just noticed…" 

He wasn't sure if it was something he ought to bring up. "About Jim… are you… are you okay? I mean…" He gestured gently toward the spaces on the walls where Jim's portraits used to hang. "We spent a while here, and a job like mine gives you sort of an eye for detail…" 

“Wha—OH! Oh, you mean that I got rid of a bunch of the posters? It’s sort of a mourning process, I guess…? I’m coping though. Besides, just like LP said, Darkwing Duck is bigger than one man. He is the hope that flaps in the night! And I’m doing my best not to let DW down.” 

He picked up the fizzing smoke bomb between two fingers, carefully stepping across the floor until he reached the trash, where it sat and slowly fizzed out a tiny cloud of purple. 

_Gee, what a convenient chance to change the subject!_

“Yup, yup, yup, totally not suspicious. Just the mystical garbage can that smokes in the early afternoon.” He pulled it back out of the trash and unscrewed the two halves of the capsule, letting the remaining powder fall uselessly into the trash.

Fenton seemed satisfied by this answer and visibly relaxed, picking up the glove of the Gizmosuit and adjusting the fingers one at a time like some kind of expert robot masseuse. "I didn't know Jim Starling personally, but… I can't help but feel a bit responsible. I should have tried harder to warn Mr. McDuck about that special effects equipment… not that it would have made a difference, I suppose. You know how it is with that sort of thing. 'Spare every expense,’ and that stuff was just old junk we had lying around the lab that the studio thought looked 'science-y' enough for the movie. I could have easily built a safe prop if I’d just taken the time, but I had my hands full working for Dr. Gearloose and…"

He shook his head and sighed. "I guess it doesn't really make a difference now, does it? Sorry, I know it's… probably not what you want to talk about…" He ran a hand through his hair, pulling at a few feathers at its base awkwardly and leaned back, picking up his notes and looking over them. "Uh, your smoke bomb recipe, do you think we could adjust it to make it more water resistant without… without losing any reactivity or…"

He was clearly trying to change the subject.

“Hey, what did I say about beating yourself up?” Drake half-scolded him as he flipped through his notes, looking for the smoke bomb recipe. “You weren’t even there. I _was_ there and I beat myself up for a while, but having survivor’s guilt isn’t going to bring him back. Neither is telling yourself all the things you could have changed.” 

He pulled out a dog-eared, particularly marked-up page with a coffee cup stain on it; this was clearly the one he referred to most. He passed it to Fenton. “This is the current mixture I use. The components aren’t uh, reactive? On their own, obviously, so the act of throwing it up or slamming it down, actually, is what shakes them up enough to react. It’s kinda cool, because in Darkwing’s theatrics, he’s always got these big gestures, so shaking it first, or lifting it and really slamming it down makes for a bigger cloud of smoke.”

"Illumination! Or, more precisely, _bioluminescence_! That is, your smoke bombs… they work on the same principle as the bioluminescence found in many undersea creatures! I've been corresponding with an aspiring marine biologist by the name of Fethry, and his work on bio-signaling is actually quite fascinating…" He slowed himself, realizing he was rambling a bit and losing the topic. "But, right, the smoke bombs! If you separate the components with a breakable waterproof membrane, then make sure the capsule itself is waterproof, it will act in the same way as the chemical cell walls that create the reactions that cause biological luminosity, or in this case, the desired reactive output: smoke!" 

He paused once more, then added, in conclusion: "In other words… more or less the same way a glow stick works." 

"I uh... I knew about half those words. But yeah, that's really cool! Though, er, what could I even use to make a membrane? Because, uh, these are actually what I make the outer shells with..." He jump-crept and shimmied across the floor until he was able to reach the cabinet, then pulled out a massive shopping bag filled with plastic capsules. "Behold, all those empty gachapon containers I was talking about last night. There was a one in five hundred chance of getting the Limited Edition Darkwarrior Duck figurine! So, naturally, I bought hundreds. Now they’re still Darkwing essentials! AKA smoke bomb capsules!"

"Oh! I see! You've got two halves, so you'd need some way to seal them, some sort of waterproof synthetic polymer. Polyvinyl acetate or something to that effect ought to do the job...? Have you got any on hand?"

"A-a what now?" Drake asked, blinking. It wasn’t like he had a whole laboratory to work with, he bought most of his ingredients at the grocery and hardware stores!

He considered for a moment, stroking his chin. "Let's see… the most common form would probably be white craft glue...?" He gave Drake a hopeful expression, tilting his head a bit.

"Ohhhh! Yeah, I have some." He stretch-jumped across the room to one of his displays, digging through the drawers until he found a bottle of glue. He was about to toss the bottle to Fenton, then swept his gaze around the very delicate and intentional ‘mess’ surrounding him. “You know what? I’ll come to you.” Scanning out a quick route, he made his way back over to their shared work space, presenting the glue to him with a modicum of pride. 

"Okay, show me what to do."

Fenton took one of the empty capsules and the glue and tore a sheet of notebook paper out, laying it between the two halves and measuring out the proper ratios of each powder carefully, explaining as he went. "This is very rough, you'll want to use something much thinner than this paper, but this should do in a pinch..."

He demonstrated the concept, spreading a thick layer of glue over the paper, being sure to spread it all the way to the edge of the capsule _._ "You'll want to let that dry so as not to compromise the powder, then close the capsule and put a thin layer on the seam, effectively sealing it..." He traced his finger around the edge as he explained _._ "It will be a bit more labor intensive than your old process, but they'll be sturdier and highly water resistant. You'll have to tell Darkwing to use them a bit more sparingly, perhaps, unless you're willing to work overtime on production." 

"Oh! Ohhhh! Wait, I get it! I have an idea!" Drake scrambled back up, this time instead of climbing back across the room, he climbed over the couch and through the divider into the kitchen, digging through a cabinet quickly before he returned with a roll of waxed paper. "I could brush it onto waxed paper, glue it, put the full half face down on the glue, and then carefully peel it off of the paper after the glue dries, boom, glue barrier! Then I just seal the two halves together like normal!"

"Brilliant! Excellent thinking, Drake; the pupil becomes the teacher! Yes! Make it pure polymer, a thinner membrane, that way, you could even break the seal intentionally, a little twist, a solid shake..." He imitated a smoke cloud going off dramatically with his hands. "Poof! Drama! Chaos! Terror! On demand! Just what you need, right?"

He lit up. "That's so cool! Yes! Darkwing is gonna love it! It'll take a little while to dry, but I'll just make a big batch all at once! See? This is what I mean, you're brilliant! I don't understand any of this stuff, and you still teach me!" He began separating out tops and bottoms of the capsules. "And I hope that your Gizmo buddy... appreciates all of your hard work."

"I think..." He looked around at the scattered suit pieces, then at the capsule in his hand _._ "I think as long as I'm doing good work, work I can be proud of… then that's all the appreciation I need. In a way, it's like I'm working from the shadows, right?" He chuckled a bit awkwardly, but he seemed genuinely happy.

"Oh? You'd rather be a _~daring duck of mystery?~_ " Drake asked playfully.

"I don't know about that..." He set down the capsule and picked up a wrench, looking over the suit, assessing it as he assembled the pieces in his brain. "But… I think I'm okay being… just Fenton, you know? Lab partner, assistant… scientist."

Drake’s expression softened. "I'm just teasing you. I don't think you need to be anybody but yourself. I kinda feel like you already... expect more from yourself than you should, but that's just my opinion." He surveyed the room, and it finally dawned on him just _how many_ pieces the Gizmosuit was in. "Speaking of... uh, do you need a hand? Any grunt work you want me to help you with...?"

Fenton stared blankly around at the pieces for a minute, then loosened his tie, pushed up his sleeves, and began giving Drake a simplified yet in depth explanation of proprietary Gearloose Labs equipment that would be sure to get his feathers plucked if a certain Dr. Gyro Gearloose had happened to be within earshot.

Now believing they knew each other's secrets, there was a comfortable silence that settled over them as they worked, broken only by the occasional coffee break. As the time passed in easy comfort, they eventually began to interrupt each other with questions, silly ideas, and the odd suggestion or off-the-wall fact or trivia. The conversation made the work feel much less like work and much more like refreshing discovery. Where there was a nervous, jittery unease between them before now rested a familiarity, a solidarity, and an unspoken gratitude. 

Until their calm was interrupted by a string of very cryptic texts and photos from one Launchpad McQuack.

The texts came in all at once and in rapid succession, as though they were sent in a poor service area over several hours, and didn’t properly send until finding a signal. When they finally did get through, they were just a confusing, jumbled mess of incoherent texts and images: blurry toy aisles, a mannequin in a clown costume, hastily scrawled bathroom graffiti…? He couldn’t quite make it out. One of them just seemed to be an accidental text-to-speech message: 

"my partner Drake is the biggest d w fan around he's just the coolest oh no way a new line of dark wing toys aisle have to tell him about it when I get home he'll be stoked hey is that"

It was immediately followed by a selfie of Launchpad beside a life-sized cardboard cutout of Drake in his costume from the cancelled movie; it was an advertisement for the planned toy line that never got released. He was grinning widely and pointing at it. Drake shook his head at this, but smiled at how happy Launchpad looked standing next to that cutout. 

The very last in the series of images was a picture of the view from the hideout, with the St. Canard skyline reaching up into the late afternoon sky, accompanied by the message "wish u were here, be home soon".

Drake slowly scrolled through all the texts and pictures, wondering what exactly Launchpad was doing at work. Were these supposed to be clues? Or was he just excited about the job? It was hard to tell; Launchpad wasn't really one to effectively communicate his feelings over text. The last message was reassuring, and he found himself smiling at the picture, imagining Launchpad sitting at the massive window, the sea breeze blowing his hair... 

He texted back; _"Hope it was good, glad you're ok. Working on gear right now, see you soon."_

Fenton finished tightening one of the last few bolts on the Gizmosuit, putting the wrench down and stretching his hands out. He tilted his head at Drake inquisitively. 

"Is everything alright? That was… quite a few notifications at once."

“LP’s phone doesn’t like sending messages until he’s in range of wifi usually…” Drake explained, scrolling through the pictures again, trying to make heads or tails of the mysterious messages. “So this was probably from his whole shift. Gosh, have we really been at this all day?” 

Fenton looked around, picked up the last piece of the Gizmosuit: a lone nut. He screwed it into place on the wheel mechanism. Wiping the grease from his hands on his shirt he swept his gaze around the room, impressed. Aside from the scattered tools and Drake's supplies, the room was more or less empty of ridiculously expensive and/or secret equipment! Between the excitement of having a fresh brain to pick for ideas and just making interesting and funny conversation, they had really gotten into the flow of things and finished the work much faster than he'd anticipated. 

"Incredible! I can't believe we finished so quickly! It usually takes me days to do a full disassembly of the suit, and that's in lab conditions…" He grinned and put his arm around Drake's shoulder. "We make a pretty great team, huh? Sort of a dynamic duo! Too bad we can't just go fight Liquidator ourselves! He wouldn't stand a chance against this kind of efficiency!"

Drake internally wished he _could_ have Fenton alongside him against Liquidator instead of that stuffy by-the-books Gizmoduck. If only Darkwing could find a way to get through to him. Fenton was so much easier to talk to! Their teamwork had paid off, not only in re-assembling Gizmoduck, but he already had a fresh stash of smoke bombs and pellets for his gas gun. Not to mention, Fenton had helped him rig the inside of the gas gun with a separate chamber where they spooled in a rope for a grappling hook! He was already excited to use it, and had to contain himself so as not to give away his secret identity. 

“Hah! I’d fight crime with you!” He posed dramatically, holding his hands up as though he was ready to fight an invisible enemy, back-to-back with Fenton. “We could be a dynamic duo defying dastardly deeds of dangerous and deadly deviants! Haha… it’s a fun thought, even if it’s totally unrealistic...” 

"Oh, I don't think it's that unrealistic! Let's see…" Fenton struck a pose, side by side with Drake as though ready to defend him to the death against imaginary foes. 

"Watch out, mischief-makers and miscreants! When these two masterful minds make their move, your mayhem and madness will miss the mark!" 

He let out what he hoped passed for a confident, heroic laugh, and as he did, the front door swung open, startling him. He jumped and grabbed Drake's arm in surprise, letting out a little yelp. 

In the doorway stood an exhausted and very concerned-looking Launchpad McQuack. He did a quick visual scan of the room, confirmed that there was no longer a bunch of expensive, breakable equipment all over it, and then did a spy-style front roll, landing in a crouch and leaping to his feet next to the two of them. He gazed around the apartment, then looked back and forth between Drake and Fenton for a second before blinking at them several times and rubbing the back of his neck. 

"Uh… where's the bad guys? I could have sworn I heard bad guy fight sounds going on in here… are you guys okay?" 

“Sweet roll, LP! No, actually we were uh, just playing around. You know. Pretending to be superheroes… there’s nothing quite like alliterative smack talk.” 

Drake suddenly felt a bit awkward, mostly because he knew how silly it must look. He was always “playing” superhero, and maybe it was childish, but being Darkwing Duck wasn’t childish, was it? He had a chance to make a difference! And Launchpad was the one who supported all that, who inspired him in the first place. 

“Sorry uh, if we scared you.” 

Launchpad seemed relieved, though a bit on edge still. He spoke with an ominous tone that Drake couldn’t quite decipher. 

"No, it's not you. I just… had sort of a long day at… _work_." 

He winked at Drake, then glanced sidelong at Fenton, who seemed preoccupied, packing the Gizmosuit into the gigantic duffel bag. Fenton looked up, none the wiser, and gave the bag a little shake as he zipped it closed. 

"Oh, sorry gentlemen! I just realized I… er, that is to say, I can't exactly test out the weapons systems inside of your apartment. Rockets and machine guns don't mix well with drywall. I had better go and test everything out before I hand the suit off to Gizmoduck, it would be pretty catastrophic to find out the weapons systems are malfunctioning in the middle of battle… I'd never hear the end of it…" Because I probably wouldn't survive, he thought. 

"I'll be out for a while, so don't wait up for me! And Drake, thank you again for all of your help today! You made what would have been a tedious task exceedingly enjoyable!" 

“Tell him the pies are a dumb function!” Drake called after him as he reached the door. It sounded aggressive, but he was smiling, as was Fenton, who was already closing it behind him as he answered. 

“I always do!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was originally even longer, but we had to break it into two parts because it was so hefty. We hope to have the next part up soon! ~ Mur  
> I hope you enjoyed seeing these two nerdy walnuts come out of their shells just a little bit. Short, sweet update soonish! ~ Rai


	13. I Am Gizmoduck!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No notable warnings this chapter, just canon-typical violence. Enjoy!

As Fenton’s footsteps receded down the hall, Drake returned to picking up his own mess of supplies. “So, was work suspicious? Did you find Quackerjack? I got your messages but they didn’t make a ton of sense…” 

Launchpad sat heavily on the couch and contemplated the events of the day for a moment. 

"Okay, Drake Mallard. Listen closely, and I will tell you my tale…" 

He spread his arms, gesturing broadly. 

"It all started this morning. I left early out of your window to avoid any… problems with the front door. I arrived six hours early for my shift, which explained the front door being locked and the lights being off and Mr. Quacklemore not being there…" He paused, stroking his chin. "But it didn't explain all of the toys being gone. And the shelves. And the window displays. And everything else. So I decided to investigate with the help of… grappling hook!" 

He held up the grappling hook for dramatic effect.

"Entering from the roof with cat-like grace, I quickly discovered that the place was completely abandoned… except for two items. This note…" 

He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a carefully folded piece of paper, handing it to Drake. It was a note, neatly typed, yet signed with what appeared to be bright red crayon. It read: 

_Dearest Quack In The Box Employee, This store has been open for over 72 hours and we have yet to see a single customer. I'm bored. St. Canard clearly isn't ready for my toys; maybe they want a different kind of playtime instead. Effective immediately, Quack In The Box will be closing and your services will no longer be needed._

_Thanks for playing,_

_-Mr. Jack Quacklemore (QJ)_

Launchpad watched him read it over for a moment, then reached into his pocket and pulled out the second item: a set of wind-up teeth, with an enormous Quackerjack logo on them. 

"...and these." 

“Whoa, whoa, let me get this straight. So… you got to work early, and the place was just gone? Like cleaned out? Completely? And with it being empty, you broke in—which I can’t really judge, I would have done that too; and you found a cryptic letter from your boss, addressed to you, which means that he expected you to break in and find the letter, which isn’t as weird when you think about it, because it turns out that your boss was indeed the supervillain mastermind Quackerjack all along?”

Drake mock-counted on his fingers as he spoke, walking himself back through the sequence of events. 

“ _Just_ as we suspected! Okay, okay, that all tracks, so what happened next?” 

"Well, it seemed pretty clear what I had to do next. Quackerjack was loose in the city, so I went on a mission to find him. I started by mapping out all the toy stores in St. Canard and checking each one for clues. It turns out that saying the name 'Quackerjack' can actually get you thrown out of _quite_ a few toy stores in this city. I… did not know that." 

He paused for a beat. 

"So anyway, now I have to do most of my toy shopping online, which is fine, but I still needed to find the terrible toymaker! I thought I spotted him downtown, but after a three hour stakeout I realized it was just a mannequin at _Feather Jack's Costume Emporium_ dressed as a clown. That was a bit of a setback, but I didn't let it get me down! There was a comic shop nearby, the one that sells the occasional rare toy as well, so I figured I might as well stop in there to investigate, and you'll never guess what I found! Well, you might guess because I sent you the picture..."

“Was that where you found the cardboard cutout of my face? I mean, it’s pretty cool, but I’m not THAT much of an egomaniac that I’d fill my house with pictures of myself…” 

Said the secret superhero with the apartment filled with Darkwing Duck merchandise. 

"I wanted to buy it, for the hideout! You know, it's a piece of your legacy. But that mean comic store duck wouldn't sell it to me. He said it was super rare because the movie was canceled and the actor wasn't famous enough to be in anything else so finding stuff like that was almost impossible. Can you believe it? After that, I ran out of leads and went back to the hideout to regroup but I really don't know where else to look. It's like Quackerjack has just vanished!" 

He looked disappointed, leaning his face against his hand on the arm of the couch. 

"Sorry, DW. I let him slip away, right from under my beak…" 

“Hey, that’s okay, LP. So what if he’s still on the loose? I’ll deal with Liquidator tonight, and we can plan to go after Quackerjack again after that. He can’t have gotten too far; if he’s like the Quackerjack we know from the show, he’s going to stay in Saint Canard. And we now know a bunch of places where he’s not! That helps, right?” 

Drake rubbed Launchpad’s back, trying to reassure him. “But! Tonight first! I’m feeling a little better about tonight, even if I’m not… eh, too keen on working with Gizmoduck again. I do owe him an apology...” 

This seemed to put Launchpad at ease. "How'd the preparations go? It looks like you guys got a lot done! There’s a lot less… robo-parts." He nodded to the floor, which was _not_ covered in various Gizmoduck pieces, a fact that was an enormous relief to him. 

"Do ya think old Liquidator will be ready for round two against the new and improved Darkwing Duck?" 

“I sure hope not! I’m pretty excited about the new stuff, I can’t wait to show you next time we can go together… Fenton helped with upgrading some of our gadgets too! The gas gun now has a grappling hook! Now it’s a bonafide _utility_ gun! It’s so cool! But yes—ahem—” He cleared his throat. “I guess it’s almost time to get ready. Um, if Fenton comes back early, can you tell him I went out? Um, errands, or something. Say I went to the DMV. That’ll be awhile. Let’s get dangerous!” 

"You got it, DW! I'll cover for you here and hold down the fort." Launchpad felt a bit guilty not telling Drake that he knew Fenton wouldn't be back and 'holding down the fort' would consist of taking a long shower and watching Darkwing Duck reruns on the couch, trying to stay up until he got home. But, then, it had been a long, fruitless day and he could really use some time to unwind. 

He gave Drake a hug and grinned. "Go show that pool scum what it really means to get dangerous. I know you'll do great." He leaned his head on Drake's shoulder for a second, lingering, then added softly: "I believe in you, DW." 

Once he was dressed and ready, Drake stood there for a moment, looking at himself in the bedroom mirror. He wasn’t admiring, so much as… reflecting. 

This was the hero he spoke of so highly to Fenton. This was the duck that Launchpad believed in. He wasn’t just dressing up as Darkwing Duck anymore, to his friends, it was like he really _was_ Darkwing Duck! Of course he was, wasn’t that the whole point? After the previous night, he didn’t feel much like a hero. 

But this wasn’t about Drake Mallard, it was about Darkwing Duck. 

Darkwing Duck had to be better than Drake Mallard. 

He could be, because he wasn’t just Drake Mallard. He was Drake’s investigation skills and dexterity, Fenton’s ingenuity, Launchpad’s bravery and integrity. 

“I’m heading out, LP. Call me if there’s trouble.” 

~☆~

After an exhaustive and comprehensive weapons analysis, Fenton was satisfied that the Gizmosuit was all systems go, and in fact better than ever! He had reinforced the interfacing and tightened up both the waterproofing and electrical resistance. The joints even felt smoother and well-lubricated! He had been a bit nervous having someone else help assemble the suit, but Drake had done an impeccable job. Thinking about it, Fenton realized this wasn't surprising given the number of collectable figurines and models he owned. That duck had an eye for detail and craftsmanship that Fenton could admire. 

He’d come out to the desolate, trash-strewn dumping grounds on the far side of the Audubon Bay Bridge to test his weapons amongst the refuse along the shore. Now, he sat at the very top of the bridge tower, admiring the view. It was actually quite lovely. He wished he could show it to Drake; his beloved city of St. Canard, the home he cared so deeply for, bathed in the last rays of sunlight as the shadows crept over the buildings and between alleyways. They wove across the city as the evening settled in; the same shadows that Darkwing Duck would be creeping through, blending into the darkness, preparing for another fight after risking his life…

Fenton sighed. 

He really owed Darkwing an apology. 

Glancing down at the river below, he waited. He had sent the emergency coordinates to Darkwing's contact number, so it was only a matter of time until he got the chance to do it right this time and bring Liquidator in… with the help of his teammate. 

“Pretty, isn’t it?” Gizmoduck startled at the voice behind him, turning to see its owner emerge from the shadows: the flowing purple cloak and wide-brimmed hat struck a familiar silhouette against the early evening sky. Darkwing sat beside him with a tiny proud smirk and a casual air, as though he hadn’t just ominously appeared from nowhere.

He leaned his elbows on his knees, looking out at the city. “You know, it’s got a lot of problems, but a lot of good people live there. And I swore to protect it. So! We—I mean— _I!_ _I_ know you’re trying to do the same thing. So.. I owe you an apology, Gizmoduck. I acted like a jerk because I was all ‘my turf, my rules.’ You’re not the sort of teammate I’m used to having. We’re supposed to be on the same side, but I was seeing you as a rival and it led to the villain getting away. So… I’m sorry.”

Fenton couldn't believe what he was hearing. Darkwing Duck… was apologizing? To him? Now he felt worse by a magnitude of about one thousand. 

He cleared his throat, putting on his Gizmoduck voice. 

"That's… very noble of you, Darkwing. But quite honestly, I have to say… I've misjudged you, and in doing so, I've done a terrible injustice to both you and the city of St. Canard. I came here to assist you, but instead I made hasty judgments, accused you of being a common street thug… and then shoved you into a wall. I'm ashamed to admit my hypocrisy. I've done a disservice to all heroes with my behavior. If anyone should apologize here, it's me. I hope you can forgive me; we still have a villain to catch." 

Gizmoduck paused, realizing the air between them was stagnant, and struggled to fill it with his words. "How are you, by the way? You aren't… hurt, I hope?" He was genuinely concerned. 

“I punched you, so I guess we’re even in that regard.” Drake felt the guilt sink into his stomach like a stone. Doubly so, knowing that Fenton had to be the one to fix it all. “But uh! No, a few bruises never stopped the daring duck of mystery! I’ve been hit by plenty of things. You could say it’s part of the job description. Uh, one question though. What made you come all the way up here?” 

Fenton gazed out over the city through the visor of the Gizmohelmet and smiled warmly, gesturing toward the horizon. 

"It's quite a view, isn't it? I wanted to get the lay of the land, see where the river let out, but… it took my breath away, this view. I can see what you love about this city." 

_Yeah, the view from on top of my hideout is indeed super cool!_ Drake thought to himself. No, he had to try, _TRY,_ for Fenton’s sake, to get along with Gizmoduck.

“Yeah… if I thought it was an unsaveable mess I wouldn’t be out here risking my tailfeathers to save it. It’s home.” It dawned on him that he was saying things that could give away his secret identity, and he scrambled to cover for it. “I mean, it’s always been my home, you know, in my comics and stuff…” He cleared his throat. “It’s got a long way to go, but it’s worth it.” 

He hoped that it wasn’t lost on his companion. 

“Anyway! See those pipes there, sticking out of the cement walls on the river’s edge? They lead to the city’s storm drain system. So. Uh, after bad storms they flood sometimes, but they all drain down there.” 

"You think this'll be the best spot to flush out Licky?" He zoomed in using the enhanced vision on the Gizmosuit, analyzing the drain system and comparing it to a map of the waterworks. Darkwing was right; all of the pipes drained here, and if his hunch was correct and the water systems hadn't been repaired yet, there was a good chance the fluidics would naturally draw their slippery adversary to this exact spot. He would just flow right to them! He nodded. 

"It looks like a sound place to put our plan into motion. So…" 

He turned to Darkwing and hesitated. 

"Have you, er, got a plan, Darkwing? I think I’d love to hear it, if… if you do."

“Well, I’ve got a few new toys, so I have an idea, not so much as a plan? Wait—you actually want to listen to my plan?” 

The realization took Darkwing by surprise, and he stumbled over his words for the next few moments. “O-okay, so… I think, _think_ , being the operative term, that I can taint his water by breaking one of my smoke bombs _inside of_ him. Then, since his body is… what did you call it? Aqueous mass? He won’t be able to hide in the water, you can freeze him, we put the pieces in your glorified tupperware thing, boom, the day is saved!” 

Fenton was pleasantly surprised. He had long theorized that Liquidator's body was separated from the water that he camouflaged himself in by a thin aqueous membrane that allowed him to retain his physical shape and strength while becoming essentially invisible due to the way light refracted through his body… if that were the case, then Darkwing's plan was an ingenious way to completely remove Liquidator's ability to hide himself in the river! It was a huge advantage! 

"It relies on the assumption that his form has an outer Cnidaria-like membrane, however there's a high probability it will work! Although the uh, the containment unit is a bit more sophisticated than tupperware…" He felt the need to defend Dr. Gearloose's proprietary technology, even if he wasn't in earshot to be offended by the comment himself. It felt like a lab assistant's duty!

“Yeah, I knew about half of those words. But thanks. It means I’ll probably get hit with a fist made of water a few more times, but that’s all in a day’s work for the terror that flaps in the night! The real problem is luring him out to us! Not to worry, though; I can sneak into one of those pipes and announce myself _: classic_ me _, very_ cool _._ Meanwhile, _you_ wait on the road up above and stay vigilant! The trick for me will be _not_ getting swept out the end of the pipe and into the river.”

He tapped his finger on the edge of his beak then paused, glanced up at Gizmoduck, and put his hands up in a quick, defensive gesture. “Not that I’ve had that happen before! It’s just a… possibility.” 

Maybe, just maybe, this could work! He could work with this. Could he actually _catch_ a villain with Gizmoduck? 

There was a heavy pause before Gizmoduck replied. 

"What if… what if that _does_ happen?" There was a beat, before he quickly added: "You know, just on the slim, very _unlikely_ possibility that he somehow catches you off guard? If the villain plays dirty…?" He had the feeling that Darkwing Duck wouldn't care for a daring rescue at the hands of a certain Symbol of Justice, so he didn't bother suggesting it. Instead he simply tilted his head at him slightly, waiting to hear his suggestion. 

“Well, if that happens, I plummet about twelve feet into the water, not super far, but the current is strong enough that it’ll sweep me down and I can get back to the shore about… there.” 

He pointed from the pipe, to a ways down the river, where Launchpad dragged them both out of the water two days prior. 

“That is, unless…” He didn’t want to admit it. Didn’t want to suggest it, sucking in air through his teeth. “...unless you happened to catch me.” 

Searching the masked hero's face for a minute, Gizmoduck nodded, offering him his hand. 

"Only if absolutely necessary. I wouldn't want to cramp your style." He smirked. 

“Deal.” He shook his hand, then stood up, interlacing his fingers and stretching them so his knuckles cracked. “Let’s get… do you have a catchphrase?” 

Fenton cleared his throat and put his hands on his hips, striking a heroic pose. 

"Blathering Blatherskite! I am Gizmoduck!!" The sound of his catchphrase echoing was followed by a thick, awkward silence. He took his hands off his hips and rubbed his arm, suddenly incredibly self-aware. 

Darkwing gave him a look as if he were a teacher giving notes on a performance. 

“You know, nice, bold delivery, strong projection, the pose to seal the deal… not sure about the dialogue there, but we’ll work on it. _If_ that’s what you want to go with. I’ve done more with less. Let’s get dangerous!” 

He pulled out his utility gun, and hooked the hook on the edge of one of the support cables leading down to the bridge proper, then swung down it, sliding on the cable like a zip line. His cape billowed out behind him, cutting a bold silhouette against the rays of the evening sun shining across the water.

Oh this was _SO_ fun! Launchpad would totally think he looked super cool! It _felt_ super cool! Once he landed on the road, he swung down beneath the bridge, headed for the concrete shoreline. 

He could feel the wind in his feathers, his free hand on his hat, and it was such a rush! Landing on a massive cement wave breaker, he climbed down, creeping up towards the runoff pipe.

Fenton watched him through the visor of the Gizmosuit, noticing for the first time how much Darkwing Duck truly seemed to enjoy what he was doing. He wasn't brooding or skulking… he was ziplining, flipping, leaping and climbing along the bridge and having the time of his life doing it. He looked… _free._

He felt a pang of something not unlike jealousy then, or envy for that freedom. The Gizmosuit made him powerful, some might even say super-powerful, but more and more lately it felt less like a passionate calling and more like an overtime call from the lab on a Saturday morning when he wanted to watch soap operas with his M’ma and tinker with his own experiments. He sighed and deployed his helicopter helmet, following after Darkwing. 

Oh well. Duty called. They had a mission to complete and a slippery villain to catch. 

He got into position on the road and waited, scanning the river and drains carefully from above. He signaled to Darkwing, indicating that he was ready and waiting. It was up to him now to flush the amorphous evildoer out. 

Darkwing dropped into the pipe, trying to be quiet and avoid stepping in the water until he was a fair way inside. The water sounded more distant this time, and he hoped it wouldn’t just instantly sweep him out into the river. He rolled the smoke bomb between his fingers until he was ready to announce himself. With a puff of smoke, he stepped into the ankle-deep water, throwing his cape up in a grand gesture, projecting as loudly as he could into the echoing tunnel before him. 

“I am the terror that flaps in the night! I am the fly that lands in the lemonade of crime! I am Darkwing Duck!” 

The distant murmur of rushing water was interrupted only by several loud drips at first as his echoing voice died, distorted in the bowels of the drain. The way the pipe swallowed sound was almost peaceful in the same way the drowned wreckage of a ghost ship was peaceful. 

Like a grave. 

The water rushing around Darkwing's ankles suddenly grew chilly, dipping in temperature as the pool-chemical scent filled the pipe and the unmistakable booming infomercial announcer voice of the Liquidator seemed to come from every direction at once. 

"Heroes hate this one little secret! But it keeps them coming back for more! They can't resist the temptation of defeat at the hands of **The Liquidator**! It's so easy…! Just head on..!" 

He popped suddenly out of the water and smashed his head into Darkwing's face with the full effect of a power-washer.

"Apply directly to the forehead! The feathers come right off!"

He stumbled backward, landing flat on his back, but Darkwing got exactly what he wanted. He pulled out another smoke bomb, shaking it hard inside his closed fist. 

“Good thing I like to skip the commercials, Liquidator, because I want my money back!” He egged him on, and when the next wave of water hit him, he opened his hand underwater, praying internally that the smoke bomb would still release so his plan could work.

The Liquidator reared up, gathering a wave, then paused, looking down at his chest, where the capsule bobbed up and down, fizzing slowly. He tilted his head at it, confused. 

"What's this? We seem to be experiencing some technical difficulties…" 

He tried to shake it out, looking comically like a wet dog trying to dry itself off, but he only succeeded in making it react faster, and soon the inky purple was burbling out from his chest into his limbs as well. He writhed, trying to dilute it further in the water running along the bottom of the pipe, but it seemed Drake and Fenton's theory held water; his body's membrane separated him, locking the swirling purple color into his body. Enraged, he thrashed around the pipe, then stopped and stood very still. It occurred to him with a sudden, crystalline clarity just _who_ put him in his current predicament. He turned on Darkwing, glaring him down with absolute malice in his gaze.

"We interrupt this program with breaking news! This just in: Darkwing Duck has been _cancelled!_ " 

He crashed into Drake with the full force of his hydraulic body, flushing him out of the pipe with all the pressure his bruise-colored fluid would allow, hurtling them both down toward the river.

"Too bad I'm the rebooooot~!" Darkwing's retort had a lot less impact as he was caught in the vicious, raging torrent. He _totally_ didn't want Gizmoduck to catch him, but in this very moment, he definitely _did_ want Gizmoduck to catch him!

Luckily, Gizmoduck was standing by, watching closely, and as soon as he saw the flutter of Darkwing Duck's purple cape emerge from the pipe he leapt from the bridge, soaring down in a dive to intercept him mid-fall. He managed to scoop him into his metal arms and skid to a safe landing on the bank just before the wine-dark sludge that Liquidator had become crashed into the water's surface behind them. The sound that followed behind resembled a dump truck full of gelatin being dropped off of a skyscraper onto the sidewalk below, but… _splooshier._ It was soon joined by an angry purple roiling on the surface of the river, where a blob of toxic-looking violet gunk floated ominously toward the bank.

"It worked!" Drake wanted to laugh and punch the air excitedly, but he had to keep it together. Still, he allowed himself a tiny one, grinning to himself. "And... thanks. For catching me."

Fenton's mind was racing with the implications, the rough outline of a research paper on the osmotic membranes of hyrdomorphic villains already laying itself out in his brain. He put Darkwing down and shook his head, trying to stay focused. 

"Sure thing, teammate. Just don't hold it against me, will you?" He chuckled, then stopped short as Liquidator clawed his way out of the river, hauling giant clods of dirt out of the riverbank as he pulled himself out on swollen, bruise-colored arms. He let out an enraged bellow and hurled a fistful of mud at the two heroes. 

"It's the rumble of the century, folks! A death-defying stunt! Get your tickets now to the scariest show in St. Canard! They're selling like hot cakes! Call now!" 

His tone changed suddenly, mimicking a late night news report as he crept toward them menacingly, leaving a thick trail of dark slime behind him as he advanced. 

"A tragic scene here tonight as two _idiot_ vigilantes lose their lives in the most horrific way imaginable..."

Darkwing pulled out the utility gun, spinning the chambers with his thumb until he landed on the blank one, which he had reserved for the freeze pellets. Since Fenton had made them, he only had three shots, but hopefully that would be more than enough. 

"Let's ice this guy, I'll move on your mark. Just give me the signal!"

Peering through the visor of the helmet and trying to rapidly triangulate the best targets, Gizmoduck crouched low and pointed to the bottom left half of Liquidator's body. He spoke quickly, a low rush of instructions in Darkwing's ear. 

"There, he leans more heavily to the left when he slogs forward. There might be a weak point in his mass! If you can hit it just right… throw him off balance… but it has to be timed just so..." He leaned in close, focusing, then gave the signal. "Now!"

Darkwing fired on command, a blast of icy smoke that froze on impact. Well, froze _part_ of Liquidator. The rest kept moving. "Uh, he's still coming? I've only got two more shots, just a heads up."

The ice crumbled into the texture of grape slushie, and Liquidator sloshed closer. Gizmoduck seemed taken aback _._ "That's it...? I thought they would have a little more _oomph_! Er, try aiming directly for his head!"

He held his other hand to steady himself, carefully aiming before releasing the burst of icy smoke towards the head. "Yeah, uh, I was hoping so too, since it made an ice block last night!"

A thought occurred to Fenton just then, and he paled a bit _._

"Oh no, we didn't account for..." 

Of course! The smoke bomb had changed the composition of Liquidator's compound! It's density, chemical structure, purity… and freezing point! They could all have been altered by the addition of such an adulterant! Maybe a stronger blast… if he ejected all of his liquid nitrogen at once… oh, but they were running out of time! Liquidator was closing fast, and that move would be all or nothing. If it failed.. _._

"Darkwing, listen. Do you think you can slow him down with your last shot? If you can hold him steady for just a moment, I think I might have an idea. It'll be pretty risky… it might even _get dangerous_. But there's a significant probability it's our only chance of victory. Do you trust me?"

"I..." He hesitated. 

Trust him? This was, after all, the villain Gizmoduck had failed to capture on his own; and the villain they had failed to capture once together already. But he couldn't help but smirk at the use of his catchphrase. 

This was his last shot. 

"...I trust you."

He nodded, swapping places with Darkwing quickly. There wasn't much time now. Liquidator was nearly in striking range, and he looked feral with rage. Gizmoduck crouched and leveled his arm cannon, setting it to eject all of the liquid nitrogen in the suit's reserves in one massive blast. This was it. They would only get one shot. 

"Okay, Darkwing. On your signal. Ready."

It felt like everything was moving in slow motion. He wasn't used to facing enemies head on. Wait, until the last possible second. He had to trust Gizmoduck. 

"In your own words, Licky, you nasty bucket of pond scum... _but wait, there's more_!" He waited for him to come closer, watching as Liquidator readied another punch he knew would turn into a tidal wave. 

He watched him make a fist... gather water... pull back... the surge built... 

He released the final blast, and a cloud of frigid smoke that caught their foe in the stomach.

Gizmoduck grabbed Darkwing by the cape as soon as the gas gun went off, and tossed him behind him with his free hand as he braced himself against the cannon blast. The concentrated freezing shot from his arm cannon was massive, enveloping Liquidator, but it didn’t stop there. It traveled further, freezing the entire wave of water he was building up, as well as the river behind him, halfway to the opposite bank. 

_Talk about a deep freeze! That wet capitalist was frozen solid!_

The recoil from the blast crippled the arm cannon, which Fenton had expected, and the force knocked him aside hard, slamming the suit against one of the cement breakers. He sat up, rerouting power to the damaged parts of the suit for maximum efficiency and looked around for Darkwing, hoping he had tossed him clear without hurting him. 

"Darkwing, quick! Before he breaks free! Shatter him!"

Darkwing Duck sat up from where he’d landed unceremoniously on his back. He was, of course, completely unprepared to be thrown like that. All in a night’s work for the terror that flaps in the night, right? He cracked his back and stood, giving Gizmoduck a thumbs up. 

"Yep, yep, yep. On it." He almost mechanically grabbed his utility gun, shooting the grappling hook up to a nearby awning above Liquidator, he pulled himself up, swinging above him to deliver a kick, further empowered by the force of gravity. 

Man, he wished LP was watching! He felt so cool! Even if it totally hurt when he landed, and the cold from the ice shot up his whole body. 

_COLD._ Holy crap it was _cold!_

Liquidator let out a muffled cry that sounded like a blend of static and cracking glacier ice as he shattered, breaking into hundreds of dark purple chunks of ice that scattered beneath the force of Darkwing's kick. Gizmoduck hauled over the container, fiddling with the controls on it for a moment. He picked up a sample of the purple ice, set it inside, then hit a few buttons. The container beeped, then opened, and the pieces of Liquidator shrank and gathered together until they formed a cohesive chunk, which dropped with a small _ka-thunk_ into the containment unit. 

The device promptly swung shut again, latching itself firmly closed and locking with a beep. 

Gizmoduck stared at it for a moment, then let out a long breath and grinned. 

They had done it. They had really done it. He picked up the container and let out a whoop of pure ecstatic triumph. 

"Woo-hoo! We did it! Darkwing, we really… Darkwing...?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, we tried to get this chapter up pretty fast! Thank you for reading, see you next episode! ~ Mur  
> So proud of those two for getting along! Miracles do happen. The next chapter will be a bit longer heh heh. ~ Rai


	14. When There's Trouble

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning - this chapter contains: discussion of police & political corruption, and there is a strong swear word (not used against anyone or in dialogue).

Taking a moment to thaw, Darkwing shook himself off, dusting a few chunks of ice off his hat. 

"Yep, yep, yep, I'm fine, totally fine. Just the impact and sudden cold, it was a calculated risk." He fibbed, still trying to regain his composure. "Great work, high fives all around, gold star and all that, so you can take that thing to Duckburg and store him in a fish tank somewhere!"

Fenton opened the front of the Gizmosuit, producing an emergency first aid kit, including a chemical hand warmer. He offered it apologetically to Darkwing. 

"Sorry about that sudden toss! I know that wasn't the most well-researched plan. I had to think quickly, there wasn't a lot of time to go over all the variables..." He rubbed his neck, then held up the containment unit. "But we've emerged victorious! Now I can finally bring this criminal to justice… no more illegal drain hopping for you, Liquidator!"

"It's fine, part of the hero gig is sometimes just doing the right thing without doing the calculations. You just know it’s right, and you do it." Darkwing took the tiny packet with a small nod, tossing it idly between his hands as he tried to shake off the chills. "Also, _illegal drain hopping?_ Really? He's been systematically mugging people in this city via their bathrooms..."

"Oh...?" He slung the container over his shoulder using the non-wrecked arm of his suit. "I didn't realize it had gotten that bad… didn't the authorities try to stop him after the first few attacks? Shut off the water or-or something?"

Darkwing looked at him as if he didn’t understand the question _._

"Uh, _yeah_ , that's why I investigated and went after him. That's authority stopping him..."

"No, I meant the _real_ authorities. You know, the police, or the fire marshal, or the… water department? Someone… official?" He began heading toward town as they talked, vaguely in the direction of the police station.

"I-I-I don't understand the question, what are they going to do about it?" Darkwing stopped walking, still turning the hand warmer over in his hands.

Fenton paused, shifting the weight of the container slightly on his shoulder, almost out of habit. 

"What do you mean? They would put sanctions in place! Turn off the water, issue alerts, put out warrants, search the city, assist local crime fighters. Catch the criminals. Keep the city safe...?" There was an air of concern that crept into Gizmoduck’s voice. Had he thrown Darkwing too hard after all? Did he hit his head...?

"Assist local crime fighters? Are you out of your mind? Okay, wait, back up, back up, back up." Darkwing glanced around the street, suddenly very uncomfortable. 

"Let me ask you something simpler. Do you—you trust the police in Duckburg, right?"

"Do I...? What?!" Gizmoduck sputtered _._ He just stared at Darkwing Duck, trying to ignore the creeping feeling that he looked a bit nefarious in the evening light. "Of course I do!"

Darkwing kept his voice level, his tone becoming serious _._ "Okay. Then, I want you to take your little box, okay, he can't bust out of that, right? Go back to Duckburg and turn him in there."

"Wha… yes, that was the plan, but what are you...?" He was cut off by his helmet phone ringing. He froze, seeing that it was his superior officer calling. That is to say, his mother. He glanced at Darkwing, then handed him the containment unit. 

"Here. I trust you to keep this safe for a moment? I have to… take this very important emergency call. Er, privately." He gave Darkwing a quick salute, then retreated to the relative safety of out-of earshot to answer the call.

Fenton answered the call quickly, smiling _._ _"Hola,_ M'ma!" 

Officer Cabrera’s voice was familiar, but professional, and it had the unique effect of somehow being comforting and anxiety-inducing all at once. Most of all, it was a sound that brought him home and made him feel like a duckling again, even when he was wearing a giant titanium alloy super-tech suit.

"Fenton, _pollito_ , since when do you keep your mother waiting on the phone?" 

"Wha-well! Since I'm a crime-fighting superhero now M'ma… we talked about that, remember? I wouldn't call during your telenovelas and you wouldn't call during my superhero missions...?" 

There was a pause on the line for a moment, then his mother laughed, and the sound warmed his heart. 

"Of course, I didn't forget. These phone lines go dead at 7pm on Thursdays and Saturdays! But that isn't why I'm calling, _pollito_. This is official. Police business. Word just came from the chief; they don't want Liquidator in Duckburg. The chief shut down Dr. Gearloose's request to study him. He says that criminal is a menace, and he needs to be in prison. He also said Liquidator is trouble as well. I managed to talk him down about your boss, as _usual_ , but the decision is final. The problem is, it's out of our jurisdiction. I'm sorry, Fenton, my love. We've gotta call you home. Unless you have Liquidator in your custody right now and can hand him over on a silver platter to the police station in St. Canard..." 

Fenton let out a joyful laugh _._ "We do! M'ma, we caught him!" 

"What?! Who is _‘we’?"_

"A… friend. Teammate. Superhero stuff. But we got him, he's contained safely and everything!" 

The excitement had crept into his voice. His mother hesitated, though, the line hanging empty for a long moment.

"If you bring him in, _pollito,_ just… be careful. St. Canard is… well, every duck has the right thing to do engraved inside of them. Sometimes you need to dig deep down to find it. Some in that city could dig straight through the Earth." 

He smiled. "Okay, M'ma. I'll be ever-vigilant!" 

"Mmmhmmm. Call me as soon as you get home, Fenton. I want to hear all about this friend of yours, and this Liquidator." 

"Yes, M'ma… okay, I gotta go, I’m on a _superhero_ mission..." 

"Yes, yes… I love you _pollito~_ " 

He blushed slightly, glancing around for any sign of his teammate and lowering his voice. 

"I love you too, M'ma. I'll call soon." 

"Hm. You had better." With that, the call was ended. Fenton couldn't help but smile to himself. He turned around, rolling back out into the open. 

"Darkwing? I've got good news!"

But Darkwing was sitting on top of a dumpster in an alleyway, and gestured for him to come away from the open street, where he was sitting with the container. "Better news than us catching a supervillain?"

Gizmoduck still hadn't gotten used to Darkwing's… way of slinking through the shadows to stay hidden. 

_He had to remind himself it wasn't “skulking.”_ _No, he was just… slipping creepily in and out of the darkness and..._

Skulking. He was definitely skulking. 

"It's related to that, actually! That was my, er, my contact with the Duckburg police. As it turns out, jurisdiction for that rascal lands right here in St. Canard! So the mission is even easier! And..." He clapped a hand on Darkwing's back.

"Lucky you! You get to claim the glory this time! I don't mind, really! After all, it was your plan that took the fiend out, and this is your city… it's only right. So! What are we waiting for? Let's march down to the St. Canard police station and you'll get your headline yet, Darkwing!"

"Wh-" Darkwing scrambled for a moment, then thrust the container back to Gizmoduck. "What, are you _insane?_ Hand him over to St. Canard police? We just spent two days trying to catch him, he'll be out in a _week,_ we'll have to do this all over again! Yes, I'm cool and crafty and had sweet moves that saved the day, but I-I-I-I can't just make this a regular thing!"

"What?!" He looked down at the container, confused. "Out in a week...? Look at him! He's safely contained! You know, I thought you'd be excited to turn him in here! You were the one who said heroes sometimes lose in St. Canard… here's your chance to show this city that you can give them a win! Some _real_ hope! Hand over Liquidator to the authorities, and Darkwing Duck is a shining beacon of peace and justice! Where's the downside?!"

Darkwing’s face paled, which was surprising, for a white duck.

"The downside is imprisonment! _Death!_ Do you really think Police Commissioner Steelbeak is going to give me any glory?" He gestured to the street. "Let me explain something to you, okay? Look: me? You? This thing we did just now? It's _illegal!_ Everybody might like you, might be happy you're a big hero, but it's still _technically_ illegal here. All of it." 

Darkwing led him over to an electronics store where a few stacked TVs were playing the news in the window. There, behind the display glass and across all of the screens, was a loop of grainy black and white video from a traffic camera. It depicted portions of their battle the previous night, but only the parts where Gizmoduck and Darkwing Duck could be seen destroying the city waterworks. It occasionally cut to inaudible footage of a striking rooster in a decorated police dress uniform with a prosthetic metal beak. He was clearly talking about the fiasco judging by the grim expression on his face _._

Darkwing gestured toward the rooster onscreen pointedly. "Yeah, let's hand Liquidator over to _him_. You can even stay and talk with him for a few minutes! I'm sure it'll go _great!"_

Fenton's heart rate shot up as he stared at the screen, watching the security footage that undeniably showed the two of _them_ destroying the waterworks. Of course! Liquidator just looked like a bad leak...! 

They looked like vandals! Terrorists! And that police commissioner...

A tall, imposing rooster with a steel beak…

Fenton wondered what kind of terrible thing had happened to him, to require such an extreme prosthetic. He had to admit it made the man look more than a little intimidating, which probably was essential for the job of police commissioner in this city.

As he was musing over all of this, two large pictures popped up on the screen: Photographs of the both of them, pulled from the internet: Gizmoduck smiling and waving and Darkwing in the middle of tripping over something right before the picture was taken. Along the top in bold red letters was a single word: **WANTED** **.**

Gizmoduck stared at it, the word reflecting in his visor. His breathing became shallow as the suit closed in around him and started to feel claustrophobic. His mind was racing, his thoughts stumbling over one another in a panic. Health alerts went off in the periphery of his visor; the blurry, insistent crimson blotches vied for his attention but he ignored them, turning suddenly on Darkwing and shoving the container into his arms. "We're… wanted? I had no idea! We've been breaking the law this whole time? And you knew? You _knew_ this was illegal?!" 

"Yes! If we don't, who will? I do this because I HAVE to! Look at this city! It's my home! Who's protecting it? The police sure aren't!" Darkwing pointed to the screen with a dry laugh. "You think THAT guy works for the city of St. Canard? On paper, maybe, but _I_ have to do it instead!"

Fenton didn't know what to say. What to think. They had managed to work so well together but this _..._! Was _this_ why Dr. Gearloose was so hesitant to let him come? His mind flashed to the incident in Tokyolk, and the tension between Dr. Gearloose and the authorities there.

Of _course_ he didn't want the Gizmosuit, Gearloose Labs technology, involved in anything shady! If crime-fighting was unsanctioned in St. Canard, Fenton had talked him into just that! Dr. Gearloose had trusted him, and now Gizmoduck was all over the evening news, a wanted criminal! This was a calamity! A cataclysm! A.. _._

"...a disaster. This is a disaster! This whole city is a complete disaster! How can it even function if the police don't do their jobs? And if they don't do their jobs, the commissioner could at the very least sanction a few heroes to do it for them! Darkwing, explain yourself! Why don't they just stop the criminals?!"

"Stop the criminals? Why would they? That's not their job, so they don't care about that! They’re the real criminals! You think they care about protecting this city?" He sank down against the dirty brick of the alley wall, looking both irritated and a bit defeated. "F.O.W.L. runs this city. Everybody knows it, but nobody can do anything about it... people like me fight to just try to keep their spirits up. You know, a little bit of hope."

He stopped dead and stood still, staring at Darkwing, aghast. 

"F.O.W.L.? As in the Fiendish Organization for World Larceny? What do you mean they _run the city?_ If you know they're here...if the police know..." 

Gizmoduck was fuming. What was going on in this city? What kind of hero _was_ Darkwing Duck...? 

"Why haven't they been stopped?! Find their headquarters, gather a taskforce!"

Darkwing pulled at his hat in irritation, groaning. What wasn't getting through that thick whatever-alloy helmet? "What would you have me do? Walk in there, try to apprehend Steelbeak myself? Oh, how about his weapons developer, Taurus Bulba? Yeah, that sounds great, let's just _do that,_ and the city will be totally saved!" He retorted sarcastically.

"Apprehend...? Are you saying that the _police commissioner_ … that rooster, right there, with the prosthetic, is a member of F.O.W.L.?! And Taurus Bulba, even I've heard of him, he's notorious, we've had problems with him trying to get his hands on Gearloose Labs tech... he's here, in the city, operating freely and _nobody is doing anything about it?!"_

He couldn't believe what he was hearing. It was like he had stepped into some kind of gritty alternate crime drama reality. He just stared at Darkwing, horrified. 

"And you really think the best you can do is… is..."

_Don't say skulk._

"...sneak around in the shadows and hide from the problem? That's supposed to give the city hope?" He gestured toward the container, where a tiny Liquidator had already thawed into a pulpy purple sludge, partially visible through the tiny one-way panel that served as a view to the contents inside. "And what about him? What are we supposed to do with him?!"

"Hide?! I'm doing everything I can! If I took them on I'd be dead! I'm just—" 

_I'm just a nerd playing dress-up. Just one duck in way over his head. Just..._

"I don't have SUPER powers! I'm just doing my best here! I don't have a powerful mega-network to face a massive crime organization! I sneak around in the shadows because I HAVE to! And it's part of my cool history, but that's not the point!"

Gizmoduck paused, searched Darkwing's face, saw the complicated expression there, the frustration... 

And he realized that he was being unfair. He was right. What did he expect one duck to do against F.O.W.L.? Even with the Gizmosuit, he couldn't even take down Liquidator by himself. Darkwing was out here, every night, doing… whatever he could, without any superpowers or power suits or billion-dollar tech.

Which one of them was the real hero in this city? Gizmoduck looked down at the container, then set it on the ground at Darkwing's feet. He let out a long, slow breath. 

"I'm under orders. Not my jurisdiction. It's your call, Darkwing. You know this city better than I do, that much is abundantly clear. Just… do the right thing. Whatever that means around here." 

Gizmoduck didn't wait for him to answer. He didn't want to stick around and talk anymore. He suddenly wanted nothing more than to take the suit off and shove it in the back of a closet for a while and think. He was very good at thinking, and he felt like he had a lot of it to do just now. His mind was already working the thoughts over as he cut through the alleys, finding the shortest route back toward the apartment. 

~☆~

Less than an hour later Drake dragged himself back up the stairs to his apartment, the containment unit stashed in his messenger bag. He didn't feel comfortable handing it over to the police, and the technology belonged to Gearloose Labs, so maybe he'd just give it to Fenton. 

_Give the supervillain thermos to the super-scientist, and acknowledge that you're in over your head. Then just. Snuggle in bed with the big guy you have a big fat crush on and pretend that the "comforting" him to keep him safe from nightmares totally doesn't have any meaning behind it._

_Yeah, good plan, Drake._ At least, that was the plan he devised as he let himself in. 

"Hey, sorry I'm back so late!"

Fenton was sitting at the kitchen table, sipping a mug full of hot water. Not coffee or cocoa or tea, just water, with steam coming out of it. He had a distant look on his face, staring into the mug between sips. 

Launchpad was on the couch, flipping through a Darkwing Duck comic, but he had been casting worried glances at Fenton since he got home. He was too anxious to ask him how the night had gone, because he could tell right away that it must have gone really poorly based on Fenton’s serious expression. The only sounds in the room were the soft whisper of fabric that signaled Launchpad’s nervous leg bouncing against the couch cushion, joined by the occasional rustle of paper as he turned the page. When Drake finally walked in he let out an enormous sigh of relief and threw down the comic. 

"Thank goodness you're home! Fenton is broken!" he blurted out. He paused, putting a hand over his mouth, embarrassed, glancing at Fenton, who choked on his hot water and sputtered.

"Uh... okay..." Drake closed and locked the door behind him, then dropped his bag on the back of the chair opposite Fenton, sliding into it. "Hey... did something happen...?"

Fenton finished coughing up the water, then stared down into his cup for a long moment. He spoke without looking up, watching his reflection in the water. 

"My M'ma always told me, ever since I was hatched, that every duck has the right thing to do engraved, deep down inside..." He grew quiet for a minute, chewing over a thought, then looked up and met Drake's gaze, searching his face for some kind of answer.

"What if… do you ever wonder if there _isn't_ a right thing to do? No matter how deep you dig, there's just… more injustice… more questions...? I want to find the answer to the questions that science asks us… but does it even matter? Does it ever end? Am I just chasing my own shadow?" He shook his head, and there was a long pause that hung in the air. Diverting his eyes from Drake’s face, he watched the steam rise from his cup, acutely aware that Drake was watching his own, trying to decipher his thoughts. His messy, conflicted, complicated thoughts! He couldn’t quantify how he felt or what he was thinking, how could he even express it to his friends? It felt like an eternity before he mustered up the courage to speak once more. 

"Sorry, I uh… Gizmoduck got a call from Duckburg. Change of plans. I'm just… the whole thing has me sort of shaken, I guess. It's not really something you need to worry about."

Drake sat there for a moment, then folded his hands. "Is everything okay at home...? Anything we can do to help...? Um, If-if it means anything! You're one of the truest... I'm not good at... look, I know you're a good duck, Fenton. Actually! Um..." 

He reached into his bag, pulling out the container, he placed it on the table between them. 

"I know you're a good duck, I know so well that I think I can trust you with this. Um, I know that the technology belongs to Gearloose Labs... and that's probably where it belongs."

Fenton opened his beak, then closed it again. He stared at the containment unit, and especially at the tiny purple supervillain, who was still inside of it, arms crossed and pouting, likely unaware they could see him through the panel.

Darkwing hadn't taken him in? 

Darkwing hadn't done _anything?_

Darkwing had just… handed the problem off to his tech guy?! 

Of course. _Typical._

"Drake… where did… how… what?! But… Liquidator is a dangerous villain! If this falls into the wrong hands the consequences could be… could be..." 

He was so flustered he couldn't even think of a word _._ Abysmal? Horrendous? Catastrophic?

"Bad! Very very _bad!_ Are you sure you want to just hand it over to _me?"_

"All the more reason to give it to you! You're a super-scientist, and you made the er, Fenton… thermos… containment unit… thingy! Otherwise, I would probably… keep it in my freezer or something?"

Fenton knew it came from a place of trust, and that touched him more than he wanted to admit, even to himself, but he still had to give Drake the same tired, incredulous look he gave Darkwing not a few hours before. 

"Drake… I appreciate what this means, I really do. But… don't you think we ought to take the supervillain out of the containment unit before I bring it back to the lab? Hand him over to the police? Put him in prison?" 

Drake Mallard loved the city of St. Canard. Believed in it. If anyone could give him a perspective on how to handle this problem, it was him...

Drake sank down in his chair. What was he supposed to do?

"I convinced Darkwing to give the container thingy to me because I knew it would be safe with you. If I gave it to the police, they'd probably find a way to trace it back to Darkwing or Gizmoduck... and they'd be unmasked or arrested. And then F.O.W.L. would have their hands on your tech. And honestly, they'd let him out soon enough, even if there was proof that he was mugging people through the pipe system… they have a way of making evidence disappear."

"Proof… that's right, Liquidator didn't leave any evidence at the scene. No fingerprints, even his water dried up..." 

Fenton ran over what he knew about the case for a moment, then remembered what his mother had said near the end of their phone call: 

_If you bring him in, pollito, just… be careful._

Be careful… had she known about the corruption in the police force here? Was it something they were aware of, but what? Couldn't stop? Was everyone helpless against F.O.W.L.? Even his own fearless mother? He crossed his arms and rested his head against them on the table, then sighed as he watched the little villain pace back and forth in the small space allowed to him by the containment unit. He felt just as trapped in his own brain as the villain before him was in the tiny canister.

"You're right. I just don't know what I'm going to do with him… the Duckburg police don't want Dr. Gearloose studying him, they say it's too dangerous to have him in the city… but then again, we've already broken the law just by getting him, haven't we? This is what I mean. I don't even know what's right anymore! Dr. Gearloose is going to be furious that I let the Gizmosuit end up on the news, and even if it's illegal, he'd probably accept Liquidator for study anyway. He never was one to turn down a good opportunity for research! But my M'ma is the sharpest officer on the Duckburg police force! If she finds out I brought this supervillain into the city..." He groaned and buried his face in his arms.

Drake opened his bill to speak, then paused. His mom was a cop? That explained a lot. Still, he felt a little silly trying to console him about what was right and what was wrong.

"Okay, okay, back up... I'm not going to insist that you take it if you're not comfortable. You should be able to make your own decisions. Follow what you believe is right in your heart, not what other people say is right... me included."

Launchpad sensed that Drake needed his help, not with a villain this time but in a completely different way. He stood up from the couch and walked over casually, kneeling beside Fenton and scooping him into his arms without a word. He held him for a minute, and Fenton, though surprised, relaxed. It was almost impossible not to; Launchpad's hugs had that sort of effect on most people.

After he released him, Fenton cleared his throat. 

"Thanks, old friend. I uh… needed that." 

Launchpad just nodded sagely. 

"Listen. I don't know what's going on exactly… but I know you've got a good heart, Fenton. It doesn't matter what the police, or Drake, or Dr. Gearloose, or anyone else thinks is right. What does Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera think is the right thing to do? Ask yourself, then do that! That's what I always do! Oh… but I ask Launchpad McQuack." He shrugged. "Works for me most of the time." 

Fenton thought about it for a minute, then nodded slowly. 

"Thank you, That’s thoughtful. I… I'm gonna think about it a bit, but that's very sound advice." 

He picked up the container, frowning down at the little villain who was making a rude gesture at him. 

"Drake, I hate to ask this of you, but… _could_ I keep this in your freezer until I make a decision? The decreased temperature should keep this little miscreant from becoming a nuisance..."

His friend obliged, tucking the container in his freezer between some bagel bites and a bag of frozen peas. "Do you... want a snack... with your uh... hot water? And I guess you had a rough night... but can I ask you something?"

Fenton looked down at the cup of water, which had already cooled to a disappointing tub-water lukewarm, and shook his head. 

"No thank you. But by all means, ask away." He got up, emptying his cup into the sink, the water no good to him unless it was a temperature that he almost regretted drinking.

"You said yesterday you... well, that you see the body cam footage from Gizmoduck. So… did you see any of Darkwing in action tonight? Did he seem… is he... what's your impression of him?"

" _My_ impression of him?" He paused. 

_Don't say skulk._

"Well… he has a certain flair for the dramatic...? There's something else though..." 

He thought back to that moment on top of the bridge, watching Darkwing leap and soar down the bridgelines, looking so free, and like he was having the time of his life. 

"He has this… passion. When I was still in graduate school and I wanted to quit, my M'ma used to say _‘no existe gran talento sin gran voluntad:_ there is no great talent without great will.’ I think… I think she never would have had to say something like that to someone like Darkwing Duck. He's got this energy to him that I don't think I could ever touch. Like he really loves what he does."

Drake was taken aback.

Passion?

Loves what he does?

 _Did_ he love it? 

He loved Darkwing Duck, but maybe he did love _being_ Darkwing Duck too. It _was_ something akin to a dream come true. Sure it was dangerous, but that was the job description, wasn't it? With Launchpad by his side... and with Fenton's help, he could do it. Becoming a part of something greater, but also the danger, the thrill, maybe becoming a symbol, an inspiration… He really did love it. 

"That's—I think that's great. Thanks. Um, I've had a long night so I think I'll turn in, if that's okay with you."

Fenton gave him a tired smile. "Of course! Thanks, for… well, thank you. I'll have this all sorted out before I head home tomorrow. I promise I won't leave you stuck with a Liquidator-brand problemsicle in your freezer." 

Launchpad bid Fenton goodnight as well, following Drake into the bedroom, trying not to act as though he had been eagerly waiting all day to curl up in bed next to him.

After they’d left the room, and he was sure they weren't going to come back out again, Fenton got to work. Stifling a yawn, he pulled up the body cam footage from the Gizmosuit and began pouring through it carefully for only the coolest, most dramatic, and most _dangerous_ shots of the night-flapping terror in action. He intended to repay Drake Mallard's kindness with more than mere words, even if it took all night.

Drake settled into Launchpad’s arms that night with a maelstrom of complex emotions swirling inside him. "Hey, LP, thanks for swooping in. It seems like Fenton needed it..."

Launchpad just made a sort of noncommittal noise and cuddled closer to him. "I don't know what you two were dealing with today but… sometimes you have to rely on your heart and not your words." He said this in a sort of tired half-mumble, burying his face against Drake's arm.

Drake didn’t protest. Instead he intertwined their fingers, relaxing into his embrace. "You say that, LP, but you always know exactly what to say."

"That's just because I ask the Launchpad McQuack… in my heart… and he says that you're..." But he didn't finish the thought, their intertwined fingers resting against the steady thrum of Drake's heart as Launchpad held him close against his chest and fell into a peaceful sleep.

Drake briefly wondered why the world didn't give Launchpad McQuack more credit, when he seemed to have a lot more figured out than most people, but these thoughts were fleeting as sleep took him.

Just as the first thin rays of sun crept through the windows, Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera ejected the thumb drive from his laptop, looking at it with an exhausted smile as he tucked the equipment away, collapsing onto the couch and falling asleep with the little drive curled in his palm, satisfied.

~☆~

Drake didn’t expect to be the first one awake that morning, but when he found Fenton asleep on the couch, he draped the throw over him before heading to the kitchen to make some toast and wash out the coffee maker for their morning coffee.

Dragged reluctantly from sleep by the scent of coffee and his body's own resistance to sleeping late, Fenton sat up, rubbing his eyes. He opened his palm, realized he still had the thumb drive in his hand, and tumbled off the couch, scrambling to his feet awkwardly. 

"Ah! Drake! Salutations! Just the duck I was hoping to see!" He smiled, and it was clear he was completely exhausted, though he seemed to be in considerably better spirits this morning.

"Well, it's my place, so yes, I live here... did you need more sleep?" Drake tilted his head as he buttered some toast for himself. "You look wiped..."

"Wha-? Oh, no… I'm used to it, I just need some coffee..." Righting himself and dusting himself off, Fenton waited by the coffeemaker impatiently for it to finish brewing, tapping his finger against his arm. "Anyway, I uh… I made you something. It's not much, but I wanted to… to give you something. To show you that I trust you. And I appreciate your help. And… er, well, I just thought you might want it for… research purposes." 

He rubbed the back of his neck and smiled awkwardly, then shoved the thumb drive into Drake's hand. 

When the coffeemaker beeped, a look of sweet relief crossed his face. He filled his mug with fresh coffee, though any attempts to drink it immediately would undoubtedly scald his bill. "It's… well, I think it's safe to say you would be ill-advised to go sharing that footage anywhere. But… I found it rather gripping!" 

"Footage...?" Drake finished preparing his breakfast and sat in front of the TV, plugging it into his own laptop. "There's only one file on here, and this file type...? Is-is this... Gizmoduck footage? Is it really okay for me to watch this?"

"Don't worry, I was pretty thorough with my editing. There's nothing on there you haven't seen before, I'd imagine..." Fenton smiled and sat down next to Drake on the couch, nursing his coffee.

"If you're sure. I just don't want you getting in trouble!"

"I'm sure. I've been doing a lot of thinking about it and… this is what I think is right. It doesn't matter if it will get me in trouble. As long as I can trust you and LP, nobody else will know, right? That's all that matters."

The video was only a few minutes long, but Drake sat there in rapt attention. It was cut together footage from the entire night... the battle with Liquidator from Gizmoduck's point of view, but only when he focused on Darkwing Duck: zipping down the bridge, holding onto his hat, swinging up to shatter Liquidator with a kick, waiting until the last possible moment to fire into an approaching wave of water, and sitting on top of the bridge, the rays of the sunset still coloring the sky behind him. 

"A few bruises never stopped the daring duck of mystery!"

"Let's get dangerous!" 

“Saint Canard-”

"Look at this city! It’s my home!"

“Part of the hero gig is sometimes just doing the right thing without doing the calculations.”

"I am the terror that flaps in the night!"

Drake had his hands together under his bill, silent even after it ended, and turned it off, staring at their reflections in the blank screen before a smile spread across his face.

"That. Was. Amazing! Can I share it with LP? Please? I promise it'll never leave this apartment, ever! Thank you, this is the coolest thing! It's almost like—it is! It’s Darkwing Duck!"

"If… if you think Darkwing won't mind, I don't see why not. I trust you to handle it with the appropriate level of discretion. I just… er, if it were to end up on the internet or something, Dr. Gearloose would cook my goose for compromising a secure system. Again."

"No, no! I promise! If you want, I'll destroy it after I've watched it enough times to ingrain it perfectly into my memory... you didn't have to make something like this!"

Fenton laughed gently, taking another sip of his coffee and shaking his head. "No! No, there's no need for something like that! Like I said, I trust you. After all, you didn't have to bring me back that containment unit, let alone what's inside of it..."

He glanced at the TV and smiled.

"If you ever find yourself unsure about why you're doing what you're doing, what you're fighting for, you can watch that footage to remind you. Darkwing Duck has such a passion for protecting this city, no matter how flawed it is. He hasn't given up on it. If you're ever looking for a little hope, maybe you can find it there. I know I did."

"Thank you. No, really, thank you... I mean it! You're the best. Just let me know anytime if you need anything, I mean it!"

Summoned by the sound of Drake's excited voice, Launchpad stumbled out of the bedroom. "Hey, what'd I miss?"

Drake bounced up and down on his heels excitedly, holding back boundless energy, rejuvenated by the video. "LP! You have _got_ to watch what Fenton made! It's so cool! Here, I'll make your coffee while you watch it!"

Launchpad sat down in front of the TV while Fenton restarted the footage for him. His eyes grew wide as he watched it, and he drew in a breath. 

It was... 

It was everything he had ever dreamt of! Drake looked so… so cool! _Beyond_ cool! It was like seeing an episode of the show come to life, except even better because not only was it real, but it starred his partner!

His handsome, incredible partner that held his hand every single night and kept him safe and was brave enough to get back up. 

Who smelled like smoke and cologne and grape-scented soap and face wash and whose soft, fluffy feathers made his heart race. 

Who looked ridiculously dashing in that cape and mask and…! 

_Whoa there. Steady LP. Keep it together._

He realized he was probably blushing, and raked his hands down his face a few times. 

"That. Was. _The_. Most. Awesome. Thing. _Ever!_ Can we watch it again? Like… one thousand times?" 

Fenton laughed gently. 

"That's up to Drake! It's his now! Though I do hope you get some use out of it."

Drake re-emerged from the kitchen after cleaning his dishes, handing Launchpad his mug, then turned to Fenton. 

"So um... heading home today..? Have you decided what to do...?"

Fenton finished his coffee, then nodded firmly. 

"Yes! Actually, I've got Mr. McQuack to thank for that. Your advice really struck a chord with me! I've decided to take Liquidator back to Duckburg with me and deliver him to Dr. Gearloose, on the condition that he use his research on the villain to help me with a project of my own." He paused, glancing at Drake for a moment, as if preparing to assess his reaction. 

"I'm going to ask him to let me begin developing plans for a special prison. A prison that can hold any supervillain, no matter how powerful! Maybe, maybe even somehow rehabilitate them! We can use it to start working on a plan to help make St. Canard a safer city. This place may be corrupt and rotten from the core out, but if Darkwing Duck can fight to protect it from the shadows… I want to do what I can to help as well. It's risky, and I don't know if Dr. Gearloose will allow it, but… I have to try! That's what I think is right. That's what I've decided."

"That sounds like a fantastic idea! I actually was thinking about that. I asked a... reputable in-person forum for their input regarding such matters, I'll uh, send you their ideas when we get the responses." Drake beamed. After all, they’d already been considering that problem recently, especially given the current state of affairs surrounding so-called ‘justice’ in St. Canard. As it was, supervillains were apprehended and tossed into prison only to walk out whenever it was convenient. 

"Oh! Actually that's perfect! I've crowd-sourced feedback for several of my ideas before but after Dr. Gearloose caught me using that method to work the bugs out of one of his schematics that ended up… er… compromised… I've been trying to avoid it." 

Drake perked up, shaking Fenton's hand _._ "I just know you'll come up with something great! And you call me if there's trouble, okay?"

"Sure, Drake. Of course. And hey, be careful out there, alright? Don't think I didn't notice how often you get bruised up on the job, Drake Mallard! Launchpad, take good care of him, would you? I'll need him in one piece next time I visit so we can compare notes!" 

He shot them one last grin and an awkward wave before tucking the containment unit safely into his giant duffel bag and heading out the door.

As they bid Fenton goodbye, Drake was both sad to see a friend leave, and happy to finally be alone with Launchpad once more. They spent the day gathering supplies and fixing up the secret lair, and as the sun began to set, Drake sat cross-legged on the couch, explaining his newest Darkwing Duck-turned-reality theory animatedly, narrating with his chopsticks whilst the video Fenton made the previous night played on their new projector. 

"So, just like that episode where Bushroot leaves prison because his body becomes a hollowed-out shell, Darkwing incorrectly believed he was dead! But he's become a plant, so he can go as far as his roots extend! He can be fighting someone on one side of town, while sitting somewhere else! Theoretically, he had the highest body count in the series as well!"

"Yes! You know, I always thought that even though Bushroot isn't technically a villain, he always had this sort of ruthlessness to his way of fighting. Remember when he tried to throw DW into a woodchipper? That was just _cold_. I can't believe they got it past the censors." Launchpad leaned back, totally relaxed, trying to imagine a more perfect series of events than the one that had just happened over the past few hours. He came up short. The secret hideout, alone with Drake, watching that footage, eating takeout, and discussing Darkwing Duck theories… It really was perfection.

"Right? That entire tea factory episode was brutal, but only if you think about it like, just enough to realize the real implications of it. But his goals are very un-villainous? His methods of getting there are the villainous part!" Drake was practically bouncing until he took a moment to calm himself down, controlling his breathing before he resumed eating.

Everything about today was exactly how it should be. In this massive tower, alone with LP... in this special private place they were building up together into a second home. 

Home. Next to Launchpad. Just like every night now, holding hands with Launchpad. Being together. With Launchpad.

"Hey, can we watch that part where you zipline down the bridge again? That was so cool!" He was all enthusiasm, even though they must have watched it about two hundred times already. He could watch the expression on his face as he pulled off those moves forever. That is, when he wasn't watching the expression on his face while he sat beside him, watching the footage. Honestly, he just really liked looking at Drake’s face in general.

"It was so fun! I wish you were there! It really felt like... like…! _Wow,_ is this what it feels like to _BE_ Darkwing Duck? It was dangerous, but it was also so, _so_ incredibly fun! I mean, I know we've been talking about making Darkwing real, but it's always just me dressing up and running around with you and playing hero. It always seems so self indulgent? But right there- no… there- back a bit..." He scrubbed through the video, finally pausing on a frame where he was ziplining down, a shot clearly taken from wherever Gizmoduck was flying, one hand on his hat, and a determined smirk on his face _._ "There! And you were the one who told me I could do this..."

Launchpad studied the still frame, the way Drake looked so determined and confident. Had he really been that much of an inspiration to him? 

"I'm sure you could have done it without me. I mean, look at you! You're so… cool! Ha, see? You didn't even need me there with you..." He trailed off, glancing at Drake, then back at the unmoving image again. He really did look like Darkwing Duck in every way. _Every_ way. Even... 

He didn't have a sidekick. Didn't _need_ one, by the look of it. 

Launchpad felt the heat drain from his face and he tried to pretend he didn't feel a bit numb at the thought. "But yeah, uh… you look really awesome."

But Drake didn’t hesitate in his response _._ "Didn’t need you? Oh, I needed you _so badly!_ If you had been there, we could have caught him the first night! Not to mention you get along with everybody, and I don’t get along with Gizmodork very well. We even argued last night about what to do with Liquidator. You really are the other half of Darkwing Duck, you know?"

It was as though someone had restarted his heart. Launchpad looked at him suddenly in surprise. “Half? Me?"

"Of course! You're my partner! Why, did you think being my partner was just a fancy title, like ‘junior assistant general manager’? We're a daring duo, a tireless twosome, an audacious amalgamation!" And I want you to be so much more, Drake thought to himself.

"R-Right… I'm..." As he stared at him, Launchpad found the numbness from a moment ago replaced with the swirling flutter of a disturbed horde of butterflies. He could feel his heart begin to pound away in his chest, and he looked around the hideout desperately for some kind of distraction. He stopped cold as his eyes fell on the view from the shutters.

The sky was awash with a fiery shade of orange, with streaks of light and dark purple scattered across it in a cacophony of colors. The Saint Canard skyline cut into it like geometric jagged mountains, aglow in the receding sun. Without tearing his eyes away from the sky, Launchpad closed his hand around Drake's wrist, pulling him gently over to the windowsill. "Would you look at that sunset, DW...?"

"It's… beautiful..." Though Drake's attention was more captured by the look on Launchpad’s face. That smile, the way he was looking out at the sky, it made Drake's stomach turn, but in a way where he didn't want to breathe, because he didn't want time to pass. 

He just wanted to _be_. Here.

"Have you ever seen a skyline like that...?" Launchpad murmured, as he rested one elbow against the windowsill and put his chin against his hand, gazing out over the view. "This city… I can't wait to make this place my home."

Those words stirred a pang of hope in his heart. Maybe they could make this... last forever? Together... "Home… does that really mean you're going to stay?"

As he finally managed to tear his eyes from the sky over the city, Launchpad studied Drake's face. "I said I was going to stay, didn't I...? Wait, was that conversation only in my head...? You're still coming to McDuck Manor with me to break the news to everyone, right? DW, I really don't think I can do it by myself… I… I need you there with me..." He reached for the smaller duck’s hand, seeking out the comfort of it almost by instinct.

"Wh-yes, of course! Gladly! Er..." He hoped that the colored rays of the sun concealed his blush _._ "I mean, it's all your choice, you're... we... bah!" He didn't know what to say, so he decided to do what he did best, play hero. "What are words, yet again I've been struck by a villain's dastardly awkward ray!"

Launchpad laughed gently at his antics. He was always so… dramatic, but in the best way possible. "This has really been some vacation, huh? So much has changed..." He looked down at Drake's hand, which he had taken lightly into his own. That simple gesture had come to represent so much for Launchpad. It meant safety from fear. It meant having someone beside you that wouldn't give up, no matter what. It meant having something, _someone_ to believe in. It meant… everything. He closed his hand around Drake's and brought his hand up to his chest, over his heart, pulling Drake closer to him with the movement. 

"Drake Mallard… seems like just yesterday I had never heard of ya..." He gave his hand a little squeeze and glanced at him, clearly blushing now. 

"But now it's like… I can't imagine my life without you in it..." Launchpad knew his heart was beating hard enough for Drake to feel it. Just tell him _._ It's now or never. 

_It isn't right to move here forever and not tell him how you feel._

_You have to tell him, LP. So why was he getting so distracted by his face? His eyes? The way the light was hitting his feathers? Focus! Tell him how you feel before things get awkward and stay that way forever!_

Drake's heart leapt, feeling like there was nothing but the two of them there. Launchpad's embrace, the arms that were always there to catch him, the way he always made him feel safe... 

Not just safe, like he belonged. That place he belonged... with Launchpad. Launchpad, who was always there for him. Who had all the right words. Who had the biggest heart, who always knew what to do, who had the kindest gaze... 

The greatest smile... 

The warmest hug. 

"How about we... spend the night here? At the lair, just the two of us?"

Drake Mallard was an absolute genius. 

"That's… a swell idea DW." His voice was soft, but Launchpad’s heart and mind were screaming.

_But you have to tell him first. Tell him!_

"But… uh..." 

He pulled back and took Drake's other hand so that he was facing him, holding both of his hands, suddenly feeling incredibly nervous. "First there's… there's something I gotta tell you. But it's… it's..." 

_Really hard to say with you looking right at me with your whole entire face!_

"...something I've been thinking about for a while. I just… haven't been able to find the words to… say what I gotta say..."

_Come on, spit it out, Launchpad McQuack! I have a giant crush on you, Drake Mallard. I'm in love with you! I want to be more than crime fighting partners, more than friends or roommates or whatever it is we are now. That's why I want to stay with you forever. It can't be that hard, right?_

Something he didn't have words for? Drake had plenty of that. Feelings he couldn't contain. How much he wanted to hold onto him.

To stay beside him, whether he was actually being Darkwing Duck, or they were just playing around together.

To race up the stairs together—

To theorize about superheroes together—

To sit here and watch the sunset—

To hold his hand tightly in his own—

To fall asleep in each other's embrace.

Was it selfish to want those things? That the idea of Launchpad staying meant so, _so_ much to him? Somehow he wanted to cry and throw up and just wrap his arms around him, bury his face in his chest, he didn't know what to do with all these feelings! Why was it so hard to just say LP, I love you, let's be more than partners!? "Yeah... what's up LP?"

"Well… I..." He felt the sudden urge to change the subject, but he interlaced their fingers and tightened his grip slightly. He needed to anchor himself. Hold his ground. Steady, LP.

"I've been thinking a lot about you… and the way I feel when you're with me… the way you make everything better and make me feel… safe. I think I… I think I like you, DW. Like… a lot! Like a LOT a lot! I think I...want to be more than just partners in crime-fighting. I think I'm… in love with you." The emotional effort of actually getting the words out was physically exhausting but he felt...accomplished, and he searched Drake's face with anxious eagerness for a reaction.

Drake's first reaction was to instinctively clench their hands together tightly. He stopped breathing, staring at him. 

_I think I'm in love with you._

_I'm in love with you._

_In love with you._

_In love._

He could go jump out the window into the harbor right now and die happy. Nothing else mattered in the world!

_Just tell him you feel the same, Drake! It's so easy, just do it! Go for it! Do it! Dive in, don't think just act! Say something!_

"I uh... I-I-I don't know what to say. I..." 

_I love you and want to spend the rest of my life with you! You're the greatest thing that ever happened to me! Keep it together! Say it!_

"Can I think about what to say for a little bit...?" 

_Fuck!_

He flushed suddenly, loosening his grip on Drake's hands. "Oh… yeah… yeah! Of course! I didn't mean to spring it on you, I just… wanted to get it off my chest, y'know? Take all the time you need."

Internally, though, he panicked a bit, the anxiety creeping up. Had he made things weird? If Drake didn't feel the same way… if he thought it was awkward… he might decide against letting him move in… or worse, decide he didn't need a partner after all! Launchpad could feel his breathing becoming erratic, and he shoved the thoughts away, forcing himself to calm down. He had to trust Drake. Whatever he decided… it would be for the best. He had to believe that.

"D-don't worry!" Drake stammered, realizing he had picked the worst words. "It's not bad! You just always... you know exactly what to say, and I want to think of the right thing to say too..."

This reassured Launchpad somewhat, and he gave Drake's hands a little squeeze before pulling him into a gentle, cautious embrace. "Either way, no matter what your reply ends up being, you're still the coolest duck in the world, DW. Nothing could change that."

"Heh... I think coolest duck in the world is your title, 'buddy'!" He hugged him back tightly, nuzzling his cheek into his chest. If Launchpad really was going to stay, they really could be together... forever, right? They had all the time in the world.

In a sudden burst of comfortable emotion, Launchpad scooped Drake up into his arms and carried him over to the couch. "Let's have the best super secret hideout sleepover ever!" He plopped him down on the couch and grinned, holding up the Darkwing Duck DVD set. "Now, remind me, weren't you the one that said you aren't supposed to do a lot of sleeping at sleepovers?"

Drake grinned wide, and was more than happy to oblige him. They spent the night watching old episodes, taking notes, fixing up the lair, drinking pep, and practicing their moves until near dawn, when they collapsed together, arms around each other, on the couch, while the DVD played episodes until the projector timed out and turned off as they snoozed.

~☆~

The next morning, as they returned to the apartment together, Launchpad felt lighter, the emotional burden lifted despite the fact that he hadn't received a clear reply. He really felt like things were settling into place. Everything was coming together so nicely, like the satisfying conclusion to a season arc. He chuckled to himself at the thought as he paused at the bottom of the stairs, waving Drake on up without him as he lingered behind to pick up the mail.

Feeling rejuvenated from the time spent at the lair with Launchpad, Drake sat at the kitchen table and focused on making a new batch of smoke bombs. They had almost all the supplies for two whole toolkits now, and he was starting to get comfortable carrying around his Darkwing supplies in a messenger bag most places they went. After all, some of his tools were starting to come in handy with how chaotic their life had become. 

Drake decided he was okay with that. It was fun. 

He didn't look up as he heard Launchpad struggling with the door. His hands were probably full. "Need some help, LP?"

The door swung open after a moment, and Launchpad stumbled in, tossing a pile of bills, advertisements, and junk mail onto the coffee table in the living room. He walked slowly into the kitchen without saying a word and placed some kind of package on the table. A foreboding silence hung in the room as he just stood by the table and stared at it, not greeting Drake or saying anything at all.

Drake didn’t look up, checking the glue seals on some of the smoke bombs before he set them aside. "You can just toss the junk mail, unless we got the new Al's Toy Barn catalog, keep that. I'm not—" 

He froze, noticing the package on the table. It was wrapped in yellow paper, with red string. The shipping label was indeed addressed to this address, but the addressee was written in red permanent marker, neat, all caps letters; _TO DARKWING DUCK._ He just stared at it. Even the sounds of the city outside seemed eerily quiet as he slid open a box cutter from the kitchen drawer; even the clicking of the blade pushing up sounded sinister in the heavy silence that had settled over the room.

Launchpad finally found his voice just before Drake cut the ribbon tying the box neatly shut. "Wait..." He put his hand on Drake's arm. His own was shaking slightly.

He had a very bad feeling that they both knew who the package was from, but he didn't want to say it out loud. Doing so felt like it might bring some curse down upon them, break some spell of protection that kept them in the safe reality where the mystery of what remained inside that box stayed unsolved and they never had to think about it again.

Launchpad's voice was quiet when he spoke again, barely a whisper in the heavy silence of the apartment. "Maybe… we shouldn't..." But even as he said it he knew it wasn't an option. He swallowed, giving Drake a tiny nod and sliding his hand into Drake's free one, holding it firmly.

"We have to." He gave Launchpad’s hand a reassuring squeeze before releasing it to carefully take the package with both hands, delicately cutting the string and paper. The snap of the paper and tape giving way beneath the blade was echoed in their own coiled tension, as the contents were revealed; nestled in the packing material and carefully wrapped in red tissue paper was one of the framed Jim Starling prints Drake had sold online, along with a note. 

Well, if one could even call it a note. It was a simple slip of paper. In that same crimson permanent marker it read in cryptic, plainly-written letters; _EPISODE 35 16:22._

Drake stared at it, until he finally spoke, his voice barely a whisper, as if speaking aloud would somehow be heard by the package's sender. " _StarlingFan1_... I should have noticed he bought this..."

"It's him, isn't it? It’s gotta be. And that episode, isn’t that...? Hang on..." He ran to the living room, rifling through the DVD collection until he found the right disc, popping it in and clicking through the menu, scrubbing through until he reached the time stamp on the note. He paused it, beckoning Drake from the kitchen as he stared at the image frozen on the screen. "Come check it out! Minute sixteen, second twenty two. The climax..." He offered Drake the remote.

"A showdown at the abandoned warehouse district...? Is there _really_ a district for that?" He swallowed. "Isn't this also the episode where Darkwing is sucked into another universe where everything is backwards or opposite or something?" Drake tried to further investigate the package, but there was only paper padding inside, and nothing about the box seemed suspicious. "It has to be an invitation... and probably a trap."

Launchpad went a bit pale. "Weren't there innocent lives at stake in that episode? There was a… a hostage or a..."

"A bomb..." Drake's face turned grim, and he scrubbed through the episode quickly. "Wait, by the entrance! There's that billboard! There's a billboard like that you can see from the hideout! Well, the other side of it... it used to always have that ad on it back when I was a kid... nowadays it just has some Beaks nonsense ad—but I'm sure of it! I know where this is! LP we have to hurry! If there's a bomb, we have to stop Negaduck!"

Launchpad nodded, then scrambled into the bedroom and re-emerged with his gear bag slung over his shoulder. He tossed Drake's gear to him, pausing to pull the grappling hook out and offer it back to him. "Thanks for letting me borrow this. It definitely came in handy..."

"Borrow it? I borrowed it from you, it's yours!" Drake countered. He thought about immediately getting into costume, but if Negaduck knew this address... better to change in the evening when they were nearby, somewhere discrete. "Keep it. Besides, Fenton modded the gas gun for me and it has a grappling hook now! It's now a utility gun~ it's how I ziplined down in that super epic video too!"

He looked at the grappling hook for half a moment, then nodded, tucking it back into his own gear bag. Right. Webby had mailed it to him, after all. He had forgotten it was his. Drake just looked so cool using it! "Okay, what's the plan? Because I'm going to be very honest with you, DW, I don't know if I can handle not being able to hug you for that long again..." He was trying to play it off as a joke but he was really worried. Jim hadn't been messing around last time, and this message seemed… calculated. It was ominous.

"Well, based on the episode, it's safe to think he wants us to go at night, and there might be a bomb. That does mean we have a few hours to prepare. It's definitely a trap. Or a test, or both. But he knows the Darkwing Duck TV show just as well as we do, so he'll expect us to just plan something identical to the show..." 

Drake paced the room as he spoke. "We know what he wants, and it's probably to kill us. If we can locate the bomb, that's probably his only attack on the citizens... I can be a flashy distraction while we search for the bomb. If he's preoccupied fighting me, it gives you free rein to search the place. If we know classic Darkwing villains, it's probably either on a timer, or just has a fuse we can put out. It's not much of a plan, but... it's sort of all I've got right now."

"Negaduck..." Launchpad shook his head, as though clearing away a bothersome thought. "What if he's got some other plan? What if he goes… off script?"

_What if you get hurt again?_

_What will I do without you?_

"Something tells me based on the note that he's definitely playing by the show's rules. That said, he totally wants to kill us. For real. So... we have to be careful. I-I think if it gets too nasty we will have to just... escape." _I don't want to see you get hurt,_ _I really can't do this without you._ He thought, but that part went unsaid.

"Escaping. Okay. I can do that. A good crash-pilot always knows his escape routes, right?" He was trying to sound more confident than he felt.

Drake didn’t feel any more confident than Launchpad did, but he still took his hand in his own, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "We can do this together. I know it. We're Darkwing Duck."

Taking a moment to steady himself, Launchpad glanced at their hands briefly, an unanswered question dissolving instantly into familiar comfort.

We're Darkwing Duck. Together.

"Right. Darkwing Duck isn't afraid of anything. We can do this. He's just a duck. One duck. With a chainsaw. No sweat. We can take him." But he squeezed Drake's hand back as he said it, and in that moment he almost believed it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yessssss one step closer TO ADOPTING THEIR DAUGHTER! If only Drake can stop being a complete FOOL about it all! Thank you so, SO SO MUCH for reading! ~ Mur
> 
> One confession down! Woo-oo! Also can I just say I'm VERY excited for the next chapter. >:3 ~ Rai


	15. Let's Get Grim and Gritty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning - This chapter contains: swearing (Negaduck has a potty mouth), and cartoon violence.

They spent most of the day preparing and anxiously awaiting their fateful encounter. As the hours ticked by, the idea that this was some sort of trap or ruse haunted their minds, but there was no backing out. Maybe to some people that would have been an option, but for them, this wasn’t a choice. They _had_ to go.

As night fell, they suited up and made their way to the area Drake recognized as the original filming location for the episode. Most of the unending massive warehouses were locked, but there was one that stood out from the others; not only was the service door light on, flooding a thin, sickly stream of light into the dismal identical bay entrances, but _this_ door was unlocked. He looked up at Launchpad, and they shared a cautious nod. As they steeled themselves in the silence of the darkened rows between the warehouses before entering, Drake felt a little silly at the idea of stomping around the quiet warehouses in Darkwing costume. But if Negaduck invited them, it only felt right that Darkwing Duck would be the one to answer his call and investigate.

This warehouse, if it was indeed abandoned, was still filled with plenty of pallets, massive shipping bins, and rows of scaffold-style shelving stacked high. It was dark, but the distant hum of machinery told both the intruders they were not alone. Echoing somewhere throughout the space, a distant radio played a familiar tune.

The sound of the song was interspersed with bursts of static, as though the thick concrete walls of the warehouse had poor reception, but it was unmistakable regardless. Launchpad paused, tilting his head to listen carefully to it. 

"Do you hear that, DW…?" 

But even as they strained to listen, another voice began humming along over the intercom system, jarringly loud compared to the relative murmur of the distant song.

_"Who's that cunning mind behind the shadowy disguise…?"_

The voice was familiar, horribly familiar, and hearing it again sent a chill down Launchpad's spine.

_Negaduck._

The music cut out suddenly and the loudspeaker spoke again, with all the rasp of a two-decade chainsmoker: "Welcome, boys. I see you got my little present and you even figured out where to find me. How very clever."

There was a pause, and the silence that replaced his voice was thick and oppressive, the massive, labyrinthine space of the warehouse swallowing the ambient noise.

"Alright, kid. I'm the bad guy, right?" 

His tone shifted almost imperceptibly, becoming more serious, a deadly implication sneaking into it even over the intercom.

"Try and stop me."

There was something about this that made Drake’s pulse quicken—it really was set up just like a typical Darkwing Duck episode! What was his angle? His game? He took a deep breath, turning to Launchpad.

“Ok, you know the plan. I’ll get his attention. We can do this.” 

Darkwing smiled at him, trying to be reassuring, before his expression became more serious. “Let’s get dangerous.”

Climbing the scaffolding shelves was easy enough, and he released a smoke bomb before jumping up onto the top shelf, looking out over the maze of boxes and shipping crates. 

“I am the terror that flaps in the night! I am the pesky pop-up window that you just can’t close! I am Darkwing Duck!” He announced, flourishing his cape.

Launchpad didn't waste any time, as soon as the smoke bomb went off he took off running, searching the maze for potential hiding places for a bomb.

Meanwhile, over the intercom, there came the sound of a slow clap, followed once again by the unmistakable voice of Jim Starling: 

"’A’ for effort… your writers are hit or miss, but that smoke bomb was impressive. My regards to your props department." He was obviously stalling for time, trying to keep Drake distracted.

Launchpad hoped he didn't realize they were using the same tactic, casting a nervous glance to the ceiling, where the omnipresent voice echoed from as he pried open another empty shipping container.

This was going to be impossible! There were thousands of places a bomb could be hidden here, the only one who could possibly find it was… 

Launchpad glanced up at the ceiling again and realized that the announcements had to be coming from some kind of central area, probably a security room. If he could find it, find Negaduck… maybe he could convince him to tell them where the bomb was, call this whole thing off…!

He took off running again, looking for a door marked _"Security."_ It wasn't difficult to find, and Launchpad darted inside, ready to apprehend the villain at any cost. 

But the room was empty, the intercom light still blinking in _STANDBY_ mode...

As he turned around in confusion, he had just enough time to catch a glimpse of yellow and red fleeing, as Negaduck slammed the door shut, locking him in. 

Meanwhile, Darkwing Duck was kicking open each container he climbed past, hoping he could buy as much time as possible for Launchpad. They clattered loudly to the floor one by one, shattering the stagnant silence over the warehouse, grim reminders of both the vastness of the place, and how alone they were.

“Come on out, Negaduck!” He swung over to the next row of shelves, heaving the top off of each large crate he passed, each one toppling loudly to the floor as he did. “I’m here! Just like you wanted! If you’re a vicious villain, come on out and make me view your vile values of violence!” 

As he rounded the next corner, Negaduck met him with a punch squarely to the face, grinning casually at him like he had encountered an old acquaintance at a coffee shop. 

"It'll be my pleasure. Someone _does_ need to teach you the value of violence. I guess it falls to me." He took another swing at him, his punches just as forceful and unrestrained as they were at the museum, though his rage burned with a new intensity; it was more focused, less erratic.

Calculated.

Stumbling back from the first punch, Drake had to flip back onto his hands and push himself back up to avoid the flurry of blows from Negaduck.

“Tell me where the bomb is, you marauding masked maker of mischief!” Darkwing dodged back, directing a kick where he extended his leg to push Negaduck back. Though he was younger and a bit faster, his opponent clearly had the advantage of experience and skill. That considered, they were… a far better match than Drake expected. Similar build, similar strength, and since Drake spent his whole life studying Jim’s moves… nearly identical technique. It was almost eerie.

“Come on… you can show me Jim is still in there,” he breathed, advancing with a punch, he turned and wrapped his arm around Negaduck’s, trying to flip him, just as he had watched Jim flip huge thugs hundreds of times on the TV show. “You don’t have to do this. Tell me where the bomb is, you can still be a hero…”

Negaduck had heard enough, and in one easy motion he reversed the flip, pinning Drake against a wooden crate instead. He held him firmly in place with one hand pressed painfully against his collarbone, then leaned in close. 

"You want a bomb? _Fine."_

He slipped his free hand around Drake's hip, under his cape and down into his concealed gear bag, pulling out one of his smoke bombs in one smooth, fluid motion. He slid his hand back up slowly and held his stolen prize up between two fingers, nodding at the capsule with a smug, satisfied expression that was halfway between a grimace and a grin. 

"There's your bomb, kid. I never _said_ I had a bomb. You thought you had it all figured out, didn't you? Show up, play the hero. Roll credits. Only _one_ problem there." 

Negaduck closed the narrow space between them, glaring at Darkwing, menacing him, and that old malicious poisonous hatred bubbled up in his eyes for a moment, his putrid breath hot on the younger duck’s face. "Jim Starling is dead, remember? You killed him." 

He shoved a knee into Drake's abdomen, then tossed down the smoke bomb, running off through the maze of containers in the cover of the smoke. 

"So come play the hero, kid. It's the role of a lifetime. Some people would kill for it, and hell, you already did!" He taunted him, his voice trying to draw him into the maze of boxes and shelves. 

Rolling over, it took Darkwing a few seconds to catch his breath; that knee really knocked the wind out of him! 

Well, at least he managed to tell which way Negaduck fled, putting a few paces between them in the seconds it took him to scramble back to his feet... 

Wait, there _wasn’t_ a bomb? He had to tell LP!

Okay. What would Darkwing Duck do? He always got back up and fought for what’s right!

If there wasn’t a bomb, that meant he was just toying with them. He was after their lives, wasn’t he? Maybe, just maybe, Drake wondered if he could still get through to him. It was risky, but he knew he wouldn’t forgive himself if he didn’t try.

“It doesn’t have to be like this! You don’t have to be Negaduck!” He rushed to the end of the row of shelves, carefully ducking between each aisle as he searched each one for his opponent. 

“No one is asking you to be a villain! You can leave _with_ me! I know you hate me, but you know this doesn’t have to happen!” He flattened his back against a crate, before turning into another aisle, cautious as he crept down it.

The blow came not from behind, but above. Negaduck swooped down from the scaffolding and tackled Darkwing to the ground, landing on top of him, lifting him by the front of his shirt and slamming him into the concrete. 

"Don't tell me what I know! I know your lines are _shit!_ You have no presence! You're wasting time with this savior complex _garbage!"_

He punched Drake in the face again, like he was tired of looking at him. 

"Darkwing Duck doesn't care about _redemption_ ! Listen carefully, because I'm only going to say this once. You have _one_ job..." 

He dug his finger into Darkwing's chest and leaned in close, holding his gaze with a murderous intensity.

"Catch the bad guy."

He patted Drake's cheek, almost gently, then laid his hand against his chest and crouched down, placing his face close by Drake’s ear as though he was revealing some great secret. "And in case you haven't figured this out yet, the bad guy? That's me."

With that, Negaduck suckerpunched him one more time, climbed off, and kicked him in the ribs for good measure. With a flourish of his cape, he threw open the door to the stairwell and fled up towards the roof.

Drake Mallard knew how to take a punch or five, but there was something that made it sting more when it came from the guy he had idolized for most of his young life.

But that _look…_ there was a madness to those eyes. Something that… reached far beyond the surface, like he wasn’t just looking at him, but _into_ him. 

Like he was looking for something. Something he seemed furious not to find. 

This wasn’t just hatred, it was something else, some spark with a desperate craving for violence that made Drake realize he had to go after Negaduck. 

Whatever else was going on inside the broken mind of Jim Starling, or whoever he was now, one thing was undeniably clear: 

_He was dangerous._

“LP! If you can hear me, there’s no bomb!” He yelled. “But we have to! We have to stop Negaduck! He’s…” 

He climbed to his feet.

“I’m going after him!” 

Bursting through the stairwell door, Darkwing twirled around for a few seconds, his eyes darting around in search of any doors out, any alternate escape routes Negaduck might take. He took the stairs three at a time until he reached a landing, then bounded upwards over the railing. He pursued Negaduck with all the passion that a much younger Drake possessed the first time he’d conquered the stairs to his apartment. 

_Hero training._

_All in a day’s work for Darkwing Duck._

He could feel his heart racing in his chest as he reached the next landing, leaping over the railing again. This feeling, excitement mixed with terror and desperation, it was almost…

Was it fun? Was this what he wanted?

But he was pursuing a mad duck! People could be in danger!

Why was he… _enjoying_ it?

Even so, the adrenaline, the rush, the... _danger._

Twelve flights of stairs at least twice a day was his regimen, this wouldn’t stop him. He was undaunted...

And he was gaining on him.

~☆~

In the security room, Launchpad McQuack had been splitting his efforts between trying to find a way out and watching the events unfolding in the warehouse on the grainy security feed. He could hear everything they were saying fairly well; there seemed to be some kind of monitoring system feeding into the room. However, Negaduck had cut the wire to the intercom so that he couldn't communicate out.

Watching Negaduck tackle Drake to the ground, Launchpad felt a surge of panic. He threw himself against the door, the pure adrenaline allowing him to crash through it to freedom, the thin wood no match for his anxiety-fueled concern. Glancing back at the security feed one more time, he saw them heading for the roof, and he knew exactly what he had to do.

No way was he leaving Drake to face that guy alone!

In the stairwell, Negaduck was pleasantly surprised to find that the kid was gaining on him. Maybe he wasn't a total loss. Maybe there was something to work with here, yet.

He flung open the roof access door, stepping out into the biting St. Canard night air.

Only steps behind Negaduck, Drake whipped out his utility gun, twirling in a flash of purple cape to catch the door with his back and hold it open for himself. As the night air and wind from the bay caught him, he grabbed Negaduck’s ankle with his own, pulling it out from under him as best he could. ( _Classic Darkwing move!_ Drake congratulated himself on it internally.)

“Suck gas, evildoer!”

He held his breath as he fired a cloud of foul-smelling smog down at his opponent, then rolled forward past his enemy, the door slamming shut behind him.

The warehouse roof was a massive, only slightly slanted open structure. It felt almost uncanny to Drake how much it felt like the prime location for a boss battle in a video game. Come to think of it, he was certain there was a villain showdown on top of a warehouse like this in the Darkwing Duck video game!

He had to do this.

_Had to._

He paused a moment to take in _every_ sensation; the shiver of the wind through his feathers and just beneath them, the thrill of adrenaline raising rolling gooseflesh across his arms, under his sleeves, the skin of his neck prickling with it, raising his feathers with anticipation. He drew a deep breath as he turned back around, hat drawn low against the wind, the same wind that was catching his cape, blowing and whipping it into a frenzy as he faced down his opponent, the city lights behind casting them both in a dramatic silhouette. True, he was _terrified_ , but it was still an incredible thrill! This was the sort of scene he had always dreamed about! Pulse-pounding, death-defying, facing a foe who sought to destroy him, and the _aesthetics..._

_Focus, Drake!_

“Give it up, Negaduck! Your nefarious nonsense is nothing but negative nocturnal narration! You’re neglected old news!”

Stumbling, helter-skelter, retching and coughing from the gas, Negaduck felt a swell of something resembling a mentor's pride. He knelt for a moment, catching his breath and finding his center of balance, then couldn't help himself any longer and let out a low chuckle, smirking up at Drake smugly.

"I knew you had potential, kid. You just needed a little _push!"_

He rushed at him on the last word, grappling for the gun, and bashed the side of his head with his elbow in an attempt to disorient him.

However, years of being hit in the head by various objects—including elbows and fists—meant that Drake was a bit too resilient for that. 

Though his grip on the utility gun loosened and it slipped from his hand, he refused to let Negaduck have it, (it was far too precious to let Negaduck get his nasty fingers on it!) and he kicked it aside, sending it spinning across the roof and over the edge. Grappling with his opponent, he rolled himself under his arm, throwing himself forward, aborting a front flip early to land on his own back, so he could kick Negaduck away from him. He shifted his weight forward onto his foot to right himself, back on his feet in a swirl of cape and feathers.

“Push?! You—! You!”

No, he couldn’t give in, he had to do what Darkwing Duck would! 

“You dastardly deviant daring to defy the dark wings of the determined and diligent daredevil of disguise!”

Standing there in the moonlight, their figures cut a scene that would have fit perfectly in any of the comics he had loved for years. 

The wind blowing their capes and hats, their almost identical silhouettes, the determination on their faces… it was all real.

Negaduck sighed, his breath vanishing into the whisper of the wind. Everything really was coming together right before his eyes. 

This was it. 

This was the energy he needed out of this kid; the passion, the attention to detail. If he could just get him to drop that redemption arc writer's room bullshit, then he might just be worth something yet. 

Time to push it a little further, see how well the kid held up. 

"I am the terror that flaps in the night. I am the thumbtack on the carpet of justice. I am Negaduck. You're no match for me, Darkwing." 

_Darkwing._

Posed atop the roof, draped in the moonlight, the name felt right in his beak. He could taste the pieces of his plan coming together, and it was honey-sweet.

He rode that feeling, really getting into the swing of things, throwing punches left and right, using all of his skill as a life-long stunt duck to keep up with his younger opponent.

Sweeping Drake's feet out from beneath him while simultaneously executing a masterful flip, he managed to pin him to the ground, putting his foot against his chest. 

"My, this feels familiar, doesn't it? And me, without my weapon. How embarrassing."

_Darkwing._

Darkwing felt as though he’d swallowed a rock. It felt like Negaduck laid the name upon him like a wreath about his neck. Like there was some deeper meaning to it than a simple name. It was a mantle, one he didn’t even know he was fighting for.

One he didn’t even know he wanted.

There was a twisted guilt that came with the memory that once upon a time, Jim was his hero. A hero he had so desperately wanted the approval of. This wasn’t just approval. It was bestowed upon him now, Jim was giving up his claim. He now saw him as Darkwing Duck.

It surprised him enough that Negaduck got the drop on him with a leg sweep and a flip— (he was already barely keeping up, relying mainly on reflexes and adrenaline… which had this thrill beneath it he couldn’t quite describe), landing square on his back, Negaduck pressed his foot to his chest. 

“Yeah, yeah, I get the point. You’re trying to kill me. Message received, loud and clear! You broke my ribs and shoved a chainsaw in my face! But if there’s one thing I’ve learned from Darkwing Duck, I’ll always get back up and fight!”

Negaduck froze. He leaned down closer, bending his knee, briefly putting more weight on Drake's chest. He stared down into Drake's face with an unusual intensity.

"Is that what you think I want? To kill you?"

He paused, and it became clear that he was waiting for Drake to actually answer him. 

“Ow! Yes! Isn’t that what you want? Yes, yes, I get it! You’re a villain now! You broke my ribs! You tried to chainsaw my face! What else were you trying to do?” 

What was he up to now? He braced himself for another punch or elbow to the face. This was going to hurt. 

There was a heavy pause, a pregnant moment of intensity while Negaduck stared down at him, studying his face.

Then, he burst out laughing.

Negaduck took his foot off of his chest and shook his head, then gripped his wrist and pulled him to his feet, dusting off Darkwing’s costume, straightening his collar and hat. He even fussed over it for a moment, making sure it was righted, nodding and giving a tiny enigmatic smile before he threw his arm around Drake's shoulder like an old friend.

"No! No, no, no, no, kid… you've got it all wrong. I don't want to kill _you!"_

He gave his shoulders a little squeeze in a gesture of almost fatherly affection.

"I mean, sure, you'll cease to exist by the time we're done here, but I have no interest in _killing you._ " He turned and smiled at him, a look that should have been casual, but the smile poorly concealed an unhinged gaze, and there was no joy in it, only a twisted madness.

"I'm going to kill Darkwing Duck."

He placed a hand on Drake's cheek, as though assessing him. 

"And you've got potential, kid, I'll give you that. But we've still got work to do."

With that Negaduck's grip around his shoulders tightened suddenly. 

Realizing the danger he was in, Drake pushed one hand against Negaduck’s elbow, a move he had seen Darkwing use on countless occasions to get out of the grip of all sorts of enemies, shoving him away, he took a few steps back. He was only a few feet away from the edge now, and he took a breath, trying to steady himself.

We’ve still got work to do? What _work?_

Why did he keep _looking_ at him like that? That mad gaze…piercing _through_ him, into him, seeking and evaluating something Drake was just barely beginning to understand; there was some specific idea, some standard he desired, and it seemed clear enough that Drake might never measure up to it, whatever _it_ was. He scoffed and rolled his eyes. 

“So you _are_ trying to kill me! You said so yourself!”

Adjusting his hat and righting himself, Negaduck glared him down, practically snarling his reply. 

"No! Not _you!_ You are a pale imitation! A cheap knockoff! I will _not_ be insulted!"

He let out a growl of irritated rage and charged at Drake, either heedless of the building's edge, or too infuriated to care.

It was easy enough to slide out of the way, but they were both too close to the edge! Drake didn’t think. Everything was moving in slow motion.

He couldn’t let him fall. 

He couldn’t! 

It didn’t matter that they were enemies. He hooked his arm around Negaduck’s, hauling him backwards before he reached the edge in one twirling motion, but he didn’t have any balance.

He pushed back on his chest, pushing Negaduck to safety solidly upon the roof, but the momentum made him stumble back. As he put his foot back to steady himself, he realized he was placing his foot—and by extension, all of his weight, in empty air.

He was falling.

Pushing Negaduck back up onto the roof, he had fallen. In that split second, his mind was eerily clear, thinking only of one thing:

_But what about LP?_

Launchpad… was he okay? He watched the roof rise away from him, Negaduck’s form and the ledge rising out of his reach. Launchpad... He wanted nothing more than to hold his hand again.

Playing heroes. Laying side by side in bed. Gathering trash. Building the secret lair. Taking selfies with every new milestone they hit. Getting groceries. Climbing the stairs, over and over. Being scooped up in big hugs. Sharing takeout at all hours of the night. Watching the sun rise. Watching the sun set. Saving the city of Saint Canard. He wanted to do everything with Launchpad McQuack.

All he was thinking about as gravity took him was how much he loved Launchpad McQuack. 

_I never told him how I really feel._

The unmistakable zip of a grappling hook being deployed shot through the night air, and a second later the biting chill of the wind was replaced by a strong, warm embrace as Launchpad snatched Drake Mallard out of the air. The maneuver would have been a lot cooler if he hadn't followed it up by immediately crashing them both into the cement bricks of the building, and tumbling the last five or six feet to the ground in a tangled heap.

He sat up, cradling Drake in his arms, and gave him a lopsided grin. "That was a close one, huh, DW? Sorry I took so long to—" 

Launchpad didn’t have a chance to finish the sentence, as Drake captured him in a kiss, throwing his arms around him.

He held onto him tightly, with all the effort as though they were still falling, refusing to let go. He wasn’t going to waste another second without letting him know exactly how he felt.

_I love you, Launchpad McQuack. I want you to be more than my partner._

His heart was racing, but somehow his mind was the clearest it had been all night. All adrenaline and fear and panic and apprehension, it all melted away as he kissed him.

Shock did not accurately describe the feeling that raced through Launchpad McQuack as Drake kissed him, pressing their beaks together with an almost desperate passion, but he didn't resist it for a moment, immediately meeting the kiss, melting into it, burying one hand in the feathers of Drake's cheek and holding him close. Is… is this what he had meant when he said he wanted to find the right thing to say? Not that he was complaining. He could stay just like this, tangled in a heap on the cold ground, lip-locked in this embrace with him forever and die the happiest duck in the world. 

When he finally broke the kiss, Drake nuzzled his face against Launchpad’s hand, his fluffy cheek feathers pressing against his palm, he was gazing up at him with a look of pure love.

“I love you. I’m sorry I didn’t say it sooner. I-I love you so much, LP. Not just because you caught me. Because you’re the coolest Duck in the world. And I don’t just want you to stay, I… I want to stay with you too.” He was breathing heavily, from the ferocity of his fight, from the panic of his fall, and he was sure Launchpad could feel it and feel his heart racing.

Launchpad just gathered him against his chest, buried his face against his neck and murmured gently to him. "Of course I'll stay. I'd follow you anywhere, DW."

He nuzzled his beak against his neck and kissed him gently, interlacing their fingers. "Because I love you too." He held him close, and he could feel both their hearts racing as one.

Here, like this, in each other's arms, nothing could touch them. Not Negaduck, not any villain in St. Canard, super-powered or not. At this moment, they were invincible, untouchable.

They were safe.

When Launchpad finally put him down, Drake almost regretted letting go, and intertwined their fingers, ready to ask him to go home. That was, until he grabbed his hat, suddenly realizing something in a panic.

“The utility gun! I dropped it off the roof! It must be around here broken somewhere! Oh no, and Fenton just upgraded it for me too...“ 

Launchpad grinned, reaching into his bag and producing the utility gun, a bit scuffed and roughed up but still functional.

"I found it out here when I came looking for you. Thought you might want it back. And hey, it's way sturdier than it looks! I wonder what Fenton made it out of anyway…?" He offered it to Drake with a broad smile.

Drake took it in his free hand, turning and quickly stealing another kiss (a peck, if you will). He hadn’t wanted the first one to end. “You really are the better half of Darkwing Duck, LP.”

He froze again, pulled out of his thoughts for a second time.

“Negaduck didn’t follow me down here? I… I didn’t think, I just pulled him back onto the roof!” He turned around, looking up at the empty roof above. 

“Where did he go?” 

~☠~

Negaduck stared at the empty space where the kid was standing half a second ago, as if staring at the outline of the missing duck there would make him reappear. He scraped his bruised knuckles along the rough concrete of the roof, dragging them toward him as he drew his hands slowly into trembling fists. It had all been falling into place so perfectly, the pieces click-clacking together like dominoes tumbling in a line until the whole thing had come grinding to a halt because he _stepped right off the goddamned building!_ Shit!

It was that damn savior complex. That amateur had gone and done an idiot thing like sacrificing himself to save the villain… 

That was hack writing! Darkwing Duck wouldn't have lifted a finger to save him!

It was all a goddamned waste of time. He just had to go and be the _hero._ It made him sick just thinking about it.

The hero didn't _save_ the evil-doer. That wasn't the way it was done. Now the kid was just another statistic. Another mess on the pavement for the city to clean up. 

He sighed.

It was a damn shame. The kid really did have potential. 

Peering over the edge of the building so that he might at least take the image of his mangled corpse with him as a consolation prize, Negaduck paused, several thoughts occurring to him in rapid succession.

Oh, he's alive. That's a surprise. At least this wasn't a total waste… 

...the sidekick saved him? _Really?!_ You have _got_ to be kidding!

As he watched them press their beaks together in a passionate kiss, he suppressed a gag of disgust.

He's in _LOVE?!_

With his _SIDEKICK?!_

_Oh, give me just a tiny break._

This would not do. Not at all.

That sidekick was toast. History. 

Darkwing Duck didn't _have_ a sidekick, and he most definitely didn't get _saved_ by one, and he absolutely, without a doubt, didn't look at a sidekick with those big sappy goo-goo heart eyes. It made him want to puke.

As he fled the roof down the fire escape, he was already plotting ways to eliminate one Launchpad McQuack. 

_Permanently._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOO! This chapter... I've been thinking about this chapter for ages. Our wonderful illustration is by @DweebArt on twitter! As always, thank you for reading, it really does mean the world to us! ~ Mur
> 
> THEY FINALLY PUT THEIR BEAKS TOGETHER!!! It's about time, Drake. Thanks for sticking with us! One thousand big huge rounds of applause for @DweebArt for providing our beautiful, incredible illustration! It's so lovely I can't stop staring at it [send help] OwO ~ Rai


	16. Life Is Like A Hurricane

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No content warnings for this chapter, just fun!

Unable to find any trace of Negaduck, the pair that called themselves Darkwing Duck returned to their secret lair to collapse onto the couch together. Drake didn’t even bother to change out of costume when he threw his arms around Launchpad once more, burying his face in his shoulder.

“Ugghhhh!! Did I do the wrong thing? He got away! LP, you should’ve seen his eyes! That duck was crazy! But I have no idea where he could have gone! So much for me being his superfan, I don’t know anything about where Negaduck went, or what he’s going to do next!” He groaned. 

"Hey, why don't we take that trip to Duckburg? We can get out of town for a bit. We sure have plenty to tell them! Maybe doing nothing is… the right thing this time. At least for now."

Drake blew a frustrated raspberry as he took off his hat, plopping it on Launchpad’s head over his cap as he sank back down.

“You’re right, he was only after us… but he acted so weird! He said he wanted to kill Darkwing Duck. But there was this _look_ , when he was looking at me, like he wasn’t looking _at_ me. I-I-I don’t know?! Like he wanted something from me? And I kind of… I think I _wanted_ him to have it? I almost pushed him off the roof, you know? I caught him, but that’s the whole reason—” He cut himself off, groaned again in melodramatic frustration, and unbuttoned his cape, huffing to himself.

Launchpad took the hat off, looking at it for a second, before laying it in Drake's lap. Kneeling on the floor in front of him and reaching up, he kissed his forehead gently, then took his face into both hands, studying it for a moment with a quiet intensity.

"Listen. If you want to stay and look for Negaduck, we can stay and look for him. If you want to go to Duckburg, we'll go to Duckburg. If you want to go to the moon, I can make some phone calls. The point is, Drake Mallard, whatever you decide, we'll do it together." He stroked his thumb through his cheek feathers and smiled. 

Drake looked at him for a long moment, thinking about how lucky he was to have Launchpad. _Lucky duck._

There was so much in that look, so much meaning to his words.

“No, no, you know what, you’re right. Let’s… let’s take a break. Go to Duckburg. I’d like to meet your family, anyway. I think… I could use a break.”

Launchpad's face lit up. As much as he had been perfectly willing to follow Drake anywhere, even to go look for that creep, he was itching to introduce his partner… 

_Partner? More-than-partner now!_

...to his family and friends back at the manor. Plus, it would be really great to see everyone again. "Great plan, DW."

Drake yawned, dumping his gear bag on the floor next to the couch as he peeled his mask off. “Yup, yup, yup, it _is_ great, isn’t it? So um. Now we uh. What do you want to call this…? This… us?”

Launchpad blushed. So much had happened so quickly. It felt so natural, so right, he hadn't really stopped to think about the implications of that kiss.

"I… uh… I mean, what do you… want to be?” He stammered out, that jittery nervousness returning now that the imminent danger to their life wasn't there to make everything crystal clear. Feelings were so weird!

Drake was speechless. Any words he could think of got lost somewhere between his brain and his tongue. "Whatever you want..."

Whatever he wanted...? What _did_ he want? Launchpad looked up at Drake's face, still clasped between his hands, and leaned up slowly, hesitantly, bringing their beaks together again, almost shyly this time. It was no longer a desperate, wordless expression of affection in a pulse-pounding moment. It was an experiment. An invitation.

There was something more intimate about this kiss. It wasn’t that there was charge to it, but they now had the time to _cherish_ it. He could throw his arms around him like nothing else mattered in the world, on the crappy purple couch they hauled up from the trash, in this place they built together.

Any lingering doubts Launchpad had faded into the background of that kiss, wrapped up in late-night TV binges, sweet dreams made reality, and a gentle hand clasped in the night. It felt like safety and comfort and above all, it was _right._ It didn't matter what they called it, as long as it never faded. He reached up, lifting Drake into his arms, pulling him onto the couch, accidentally hitting the remote as he did, turning on the DVD menu. 

And so they sat together on the couch, in their secret superhero lair, and made out to the sounds of the Darkwing Duck saxophone on repeat.

~☆~

"Boyfriends?" Drake asked, folding a purple towel into thirds before rolling it up into a little tube and placing it in his duffel bag. After a quick trip to the laundromat, he spent most of the remaining morning packing, even though he insisted on bringing his gear bag and Darkwing supplies with him to Duckburg. You never knew when there would be trouble, even if it _was_ Gizmoduck's turf. That guy could probably use the help regardless. "We can just be partners if you don't want to put a name to it..."

"Boyfriends..." Launchpad tested the word, tilting his head. It felt pretty nice to say it out loud, actually. He pretended to introduce Drake to someone. 

"This is my boyfriend, Drake. He's the coolest duck in the world." He paused, repeating the entire motion. "This is my partner, DW. He's the coolest duck in the world." 

He considered for a moment, then rubbed the back of his head with a half-grin. "I like them both."

Drake was certain he could be mistaken for a rooster with how red he blushed. "Well, no matter what, we're still partners when it comes to Darkwing Duck!"

He zipped up the duffel, hoisting it over one shoulder, throwing his messenger bag with all of his Darkwing stuff over the opposite shoulder, but paused when he saw the framed Jim Starling print and note on the table. "Oh, I didn't tell you! I realized something last night. I realized... that Negaduck wasn't born from Jim. It's not like Jim died and his empty husk _became_ Negaduck. Sometimes you meet your heroes, and they're bad people, even if they've got the whole world fooled. Jim was just... a bad guy all along. I spent my entire life idolizing an egomaniac, and now he’s turned violent. Sorry to bring down the mood just before our trip." He put the frame face down on the table, squeezing Launchpad's hand in his own.

Launchpad lifted Drake's hand up and held it to his chest. 

"I realized something too. Sometimes you meet someone… and you think they couldn't possibly get any cooler, or any more handsome, or any kinder or more daring, sometimes they surprise you by being even better, every single moment you spend together. And then they surprise you in other ways, like by falling off of buildings or kissing you suddenly, and then you have another realization; you realize that you _like_ surprises. Even the scary ones. Even the ones nobody could predict. Even the Jim Starlings… and that's pretty cool, you know?"

Drake looked up at him, realizing that he never truly thought someone would feel that way about him. All of his own puffery and melodrama was always to hide how fragile he was, after all; he hadn't thought anyone could genuinely feel like he was as great as he acted. 

"LP... you really have got the world all figured out, huh?"

Launchpad smirked at him. "Does it count if I have _you_ all figured out?" But he kissed his hand and picked up his bag, hefting it onto his shoulder.

"Yeah, I think it does."

~☆~

Staring up at the front door to McDuck Manor, Drake was... impressed. He'd had a pretty good life by his own standards as an abandoned egg, but this was some 1% lifestyle. Real swanky. "Wow. This is where your family lives?"

"Yep! Mr. McDee and the kids and everyone..." He straightened his tie, then took his hat off, then put it back on, then fussed with Drake's collar, then stood in front of the door for a good fifteen seconds before he realized he hadn't knocked yet and scrambled to knock on the enormous door.

Just as Launchpad was about to knock, the door opened, an imposing elderly Duck stood in the doorway, her hair tied up as neatly as her sweater and perfectly pressed shirt. "Oh! Launchpad, you're back! I'll tell everyone, they will be so excited. And who—" 

She stopped short, looking Drake up and down. She appeared to internally make some sort of calculation in less than a second before she spoke again. 

"You must be Drake Mallard." 

"Um, yes ma'am," Drake attempted, extending a hand for a handshake. Though she wore an apron, he could tell immediately that she had some measure of authority in the house. 

"Beakley, Mrs. Beakley." She answered, shaking his hand, then pulled Drake in so she was close to his ear. "Allow me to make one thing abundantly clear. There shall be no superhero horseplay in this house, Darkwing Duck. I have enough to handle as it is. Welcome to McDuck Manor." 

When she stepped back into the foyer to let them in, Drake was a bit shaken that she had read him so quickly, but this was the home of Launchpad's cool adventure family! 

"Oh my gosh! She talks like a spy!"

But that excitement was instantly forgotten, as it was immediately replaced by an overwhelming sense of wonder at the massive hall they stepped into. He wrung his hands on the strap of his bag as he stepped through the threshold, looking around as though he were at a museum for the first time. 

"I'll let everyone know you're here," Mrs. Beakley said, departing as quickly as she came.

Launchpad seemed slightly relieved as they stepped in, though he still stayed close to Drake, his hand hovering inches away from his as though ready to grab it and flee at a moment's notice. He peered around cautiously, then cleared his throat, leaning in and lowering his voice slightly.

"Hey, uh, remember to be careful, okay? Or uh... vigilant. Everyone here is gonna love you, but it can be sort of... intense. Especially if you aren't used to..." 

From the other room, there came a series of alliterative Scottish expletives, followed by a door slamming. These were almost immediately followed by several loud crashing sounds and a woman's voice cheering, as though encouraging some wildly irresponsible behavior. 

Launchpad glanced at Drake, smiled warmly and shrugged, shaking his head and gesturing vaguely toward the noise. "You'll see what I mean."

Almost as if on cue, there was the sound of footsteps, and three ducklings (absolutely _not_ in a row) were bounding down the stairs of the foyer, led by one Dewey Duck, who broke into a run as soon as he saw Launchpad, jumping onto him. 

“Launchpad! You’re back! Did you have lots of adventures? Was Saint Canard super cool? Did you see my photo in the package? I put it on top! I wanted my face to be the first thing you saw when you opened the box! I missed you so much! Oh my gosh, I almost forgot! You went _viral?!_ Tell me _everything!_ Oh hey, you brought Movie Star Guy with you!”

Drake couldn’t help but laugh a little at that. 

“Movie Star Guy? I’ll accept that nickname. It makes me sound super cool. Hey, Dewey.”

By then, the other two had caught up, and Huey shook Drake’s hand. “You must be the partner Launchpad mentioned! Hi, I’m Huey, I guess you already met Dewey, and this is our brother Louie. If you’re a movie star, is your house just as big as Uncle Scrooge’s? Do you do all your own stunts? What kind of acting methods do you believe in? Are you all about the Meisner technique, or do you believe the Stanislavski method is superior?”

“Haha, um… wow, I didn’t think I’d get an acting quiz as soon as I got here. I’m more of an Uta Hagen guy myself, but I think you could apply practical aesthetics to any fictional situation, a lot of actors would say that’s up for debate. A lot of acting schools have overlap in technique. Is that… a good answer?”

Huey had pulled a notebook out from under his hat and was already scribbling this down as Louie approached, his hands stuffed in his pockets. 

“Welcome back, Launchpad. Hi Movie Star Guy. You don’t _look_ much like a movie star. No offense.” 

“Uh, none taken! I’m Drake Mallard. I’d rather look like a superhero than a movie star anyway,” He said, holding out his hand.

Louie shook his hand as though he were making a business deal. He had been practicing. “Louie Duck. The _superior_ triplet, but don’t tell those guys.”

Launchpad caught Dewey, scooping him up in a hug and then holding him up in both arms, talking excitedly to him.

"Dewey! How did you know seeing my best friend's face on top of the box would cheer me up so much? And you knew all my favorite snacks! This vacation has been pretty super but I missed you a lot too! All of you!" He smiled and put Dewey down, then put his arm around Drake's shoulder. "This Movie Star Guy isn't just _any_ Movie Star Guy! He's my..." 

He was interrupted by the foyer door bursting open, and a lady duck in a pilot's uniform and blue scarf came running in, looking mildly irritated. "Hey! What's the hold up? You guys totally could have nailed that jump with the triple twist if you just..." 

She paused, taking in the scene in front of her, her gaze settling on Launchpad. "Launchpad...?" 

Launchpad swallowed, and gave her an awkward smile. "Hiya Della."

"Hey mom! Launchpad’s back!" Dewey had climbed up and was now sitting on Launchpad’s shoulder, pointing at him excitedly, as if Launchpad wasn't the largest Duck in the room. 

"And... 3… 2… 1... " Louie counted down, pulling out his phone.

At the very end of Louie's countdown, the door burst open again and Scrooge McDuck himself stormed into the foyer, fuming, followed by a very tired-looking Donald Duck. 

"Curse me kilts! What in Dismal Downs is going on in here?!" 

Della turned to him, pointing at Launchpad, her face a mixture of disbelief and relief. "Uncle Scrooge! Launchpad's back!" 

Scrooge McDuck froze, narrowed his eyes, and pointed his cane at Launchpad.

 _"You!"_ He stomped over imposingly and Donald moved to stop him, but Della intervened, putting up a hand to impede his progress, watching Uncle Scrooge approach Launchpad with focused curiosity. "Mr. McQuack..."

Launchpad searched his face, concerned. "Mr. McDee?" 

"How was your vacation, then?" The tension was palpable, and Launchpad swallowed hard. 

"It was uh... super. Really great. Thank you." 

"Good. Good to hear..." An odd calm washed over Scrooge’s face until the facade cracked, and he grabbed Launchpad by his coat, sinking to his knees in a fit of melodrama. 

"Ye've _got_ to come home! I cannae take Della's piloting anymore! The lass will be the death of me!"

Della crossed her arms, rolling her eyes. "Annnnd there it is."

Drake almost felt like he was interrupting something personal, despite the fact that he was standing there the entire time. "Um, hi, Mr. McDuck. Thank you for giving LP a vacation..." 

It was Donald who shoved himself between Drake and Scrooge, fully aware that was meant to be a grateful comment, intervening with a hoarse quack before Scrooge could retort. "Don't mind Uncle Scrooge, thanks for visiting, Mr. Mallard. I'm glad Launchpad has a friend. He really needs somebody on his level." 

Drake shook his hand, blushing a bit. "I'll take that as a compliment?" 

"It is one! This is Della! I'm Donald. Nice to meet you!" 

"I can translate for you if you need me to! People seem to have trouble understanding Uncle Donald. Years of context clues have taught us to understand about 80 percent of what he says," Huey offered, whispering conspiratorially towards Drake behind his hand. 

It was then that Mrs. Beakley reappeared, seemingly from nowhere, if nowhere was the doorway opposite where Scrooge and Donald entered. "Dinner is almost ready, I expect all of you to gather yourselves in five minutes, I'll fetch Webbigail."

Scrooge glared indignantly at Donald, then threw up his arms, sulking his way out of the room dramatically. Donald sighed, plucking Dewey off of Launchpad's shoulder and hustling the three boys out behind him. "Come on boys, it's time to wash up for dinner." 

Della glanced after them. "Oh! Yeah, I can handle getting them ready for dinner! Wash your hands! Uh… make sure you eat vegetables! Oh my God, do they have any allergies...? Wait up!" She ran after Donald, and all of them disappeared through the door, leaving Drake and Launchpad alone in the foyer again. Launchpad let out a breath and smiled. 

"Man, it's nice to see everyone again."

"These are the people you go on your adventures with? This is your family?" Drake asked, his tone almost incredulous as he watched them file out. "They're the coolest! They seem so intense! That was like 2 minutes, nothing happened, but I feel like… everything happened! Wow!"

Launchpad laughed, rubbing his neck. "Yeah, they're the best, right? This place is my home, or… it has been." He smiled softly, gazing around the foyer for a second, then shrugged. He took Drake's hand once more, giving it a little squeeze. 

"Come on, Mrs. B doesn't like it when you're late for dinner. She has a heck of a throw."

"A-a throw?" Drake stood there in surprise for a moment, before being dragged along after him. "Throwing what?"

Launchpad just chuckled to himself as he dragged him into the dining room. Scrooge was sulking still, seated at the head of the table, with Della and Donald on either side of him and the triplets along the sides of the long table, accompanied by a young girl duck wearing a large pink bow.

Drake cautiously slid into a chair, already intimidated by Mrs. Beakley's discerning eye. He had no intention of wearing out his welcome. Drake's impression was that this combination of personalities could easily devolve into food fights regularly if not for the watchful eye of the housekeeper, who placed a massive dish of shepherd's pie onto a trivet near the center of the table before taking a seat herself. She had a commanding presence over the room as she spoke. 

"We have a guest tonight, so it's best if you all behave. That includes you, _Scrooge."_

Scrooge may have been the head of the house, but it was abundantly clear that Bentina Beakley was in charge.

Looking around at everyone gathered, Launchpad felt the time was right, before dinner truly got into full swing. He stood up, lifting the unopened can of Pep at his seat and hitting it with a fork. When that did little to get everyone's attention, he cleared his throat and hit it a little harder, until the Pep can exploded in his grip, flying across the table and knocking Scrooge's tea cup out of his hand. The room went silent and Scrooge looked up at him evenly. 

"Yes, Mr. McQuack, you have our attention. Did you have something to say before we begin?" 

Launchpad’s face turned several shades of pink darker and he rubbed the back of his neck with slightly Pep-sticky fingers.

"I uh… yeah. I needed to say that I'm back!"

There was a pause, and Donald rubbed the sides of his temples as everyone else looked at each other, confused. Launchpad hesitated, not used to making big announcement-style speeches, but steeled himself and forged ahead. 

"I'm back, but I'm not back forever." 

Scrooge immediately cut him off. "If you think you're getting another paid vacation..." 

But Launchpad held up his hand and shook his head, and Scrooge paused at the look on his face. 

"No! No... it’s not that; Mr. McDee... I'm moving! To St. Canard! I... Drake and I are... I want to be with him, stay with him, _there_ _..._ so I... " He laughed awkwardly, glancing at Della. "I won't touch your plane anymore, Della! She's all yours." He hesitated, standing awkwardly at the end of the table for a minute before sitting down and waiting for everyone to react.

Drake awkwardly, slowly waved, as though that somehow softened the blow. "What LP is trying to say is... we're partners. Boyfriends, if you will. And he's moving in with me..." 

Nope, that totally made it worse. Dewey lit up, slowly leaning forward. 

"LP, you're dating a movie star? Oh. My. _God._ Can I get the exclusive? Are YOU gonna be a movie star? Can I be the ring-bearing flower DJ at your wedding and steal all the attention?" 

"Well, I think that's great! Congratulations Launchpad!" Donald said reassuringly.

"Bummer, who am I going to secretly go time-hopping with now?" Louie answered. "Back to breaking into the bin instead." 

"Wait, wait, wait, are you really stealing from the bin, and admitting it to everyone at the dinner table?" Huey interjected. 

"I said _breaking in,_ I never said stealing. I'm practicing my gold-swimming backstroke. It works better if the gold is IN the bin, why would I take it out?" 

Throughout all of this, however, the head of the table, one Scrooge McDuck was eerily silent, fingers steepled together beneath his bill.

Finally, Scrooge McDuck rose from his seat, clearing his throat and tapping his cane once against the floor. The room fell silent in an instant, all eyes turning to watch him. He crossed his hands behind his back and addressed Launchpad. 

"Launchpad McQuack, you have served me loyally as a driver and pilot for years, and it is with a heavy heart that I release you from that service. I haven't the slightest idea who this young man is, but if he makes you happy, then we at McDuck Enterprises wish you the very best on your future adventures." 

He smiled warmly at Launchpad, then put one be-spatted webbed foot up onto the table, then the other, climbing up and raising both his cane and his voice. 

"That being said, I'd like tae make it clear that from this moment onward, _no_ employee of McDuck Enterprises shall be having ANY vacations, paid or _otherwise!_ Vacations are the devil's vice trap, sent tae entice my very vital and valued employees right from my grasp! Where will I find another pilot as loyal as Mr. McQuack? As crazy and brave as I am?! How will I survive? Is this the _end_ of Scrooge McDuck? Slowly losing my employees one by one to _vacation time?"_ He paused, saw Bentina Beakley shoot him a look of dangerous warning, and sat back down, clearing his throat. "But yes, McDuck Enterprises thanks you for your time with us and wishes you all the best in St. Canard, Mr. McQuack. All the best."

Drake's first thought was how impressive Scrooge's alliterative prowess was.

His second thought was that he totally followed the logic, and felt genuinely bad. He was glad Scrooge relied on Launchpad, but he also hadn't realized how essential he was here.

The heavy pause that followed was finally broken by Della Duck, who let out a long, groaning sigh and raked her hands down her face.

"Come on, Uncle Scrooge! I was trying to show the boys how to outmaneuver an enemy fleet!" She looked at the expression on Scrooge's face, and settled back into her seat, crossing her arms and muttering to herself. "Find a pilot as crazy as... I'm a great pilot! Crazy old... hmph..."

Drake stopped short. 

"Wait a minute, you don’t have the _slightest_ idea who I am? I starred in that movie for you? We fought the moon together...?" He scrambled for a moment. "You _dressed up_ as me!"

Scrooge squinted and tilted his head at him. "I don't, er… ah! That loud purple weirdo with the cape...?" He looked at Launchpad, then at Drake, then nodded, as though putting the pieces of a puzzle together in his mind. "I suppose that tracks. No matter. If Launchpad is happy, I'll not stand in his way. Honestly, I'd not recommend _anything_ stand in that lad's way."

Webbigail Vanderquack was silent for most of dinner. The carefully woven tapestry of her family was being threatened, and that was _not_ fine. Launchpad was leaving?! This was a dire situation! Finally, she spoke, elbowing Dewey in the ribs.

"Emergency kids meeting!" 

Immediately, she and all three of the triplets sunk down in their chairs and slipped under the table, gathering in a huddle. Webby spoke in a hushed tone. "I've called you all down here for a matter of utmost importance! We need to have a _secret_ emergency kids meeting!" They slipped back into their chairs, and Dewey spoke first. 

"May I be excused? I want to set up my new studio! I'll take my plate to the sink. Please?" 

Huey piped up after him. "May I be excused? I have a feeling the studio is going to need a good sound system, and I'm working on my audio technician Junior Woodchuck badge. I can stack the plates." 

Webby chimed in as well. "Granny, may I be excused? It's the perfect weather for practicing with a longbow! I'll rinse the silverware." 

"May I be excused?" Louie followed after them. "I'm done, and it's not my turn to help with the dishes."

"Yes you may. But remember," She looked to each in turn. "Don't stay up too late, I'll know what time you're recording, keep the sound below 80 decibels or I'll unplug it, make sure you fetch any wayward arrows, and Llewellyn? Help your brothers with the dishes."

The kids all said their thanks and retreated, and Mrs. Beakley only shook her head, knowing full well what they were up to.

As the kids left the room together in a hurry, that left Drake, Launchpad, Della, Donald, and Scrooge sitting under the watchful eye of Mrs. Beakley. Della glanced at Launchpad, then at Scrooge, and blew a strand of hair out of her face in frustration. 

"Do you really think I'm a bad pilot? Worse than _Launchpad?"_

Scrooge put a hand to his temple. "Della, this is nae the time. Besides, it's got nothing to do with being a bad pilot! You’re an _excellent_ pilot, lass! And so is Launchpad! But if he wants tae leave us forever, then we need tae let him go be happy with his posturing purple partner!"

"You know I can hear you, right?" Drake attempted to cut in.

"Don't be mad, Della! Launchpad flew and drove and crashed us everywhere before you came home. And he's Uncle Scrooge's kind of wacko. Now you get to fly all the time!" Donald chimed in, trying to lighten the mood.

Gazing around the table at his loved ones, Launchpad felt the familiar instinct to find an escape route that kicked in just before a crash or similar disaster. He looked around desperately, trying to follow the children’s example and find an excuse to be excused, already reaching for Drake's hand beneath the table and gripping it firmly, ready to bolt.

Drake sensed his unease almost instinctively, and gently rubbed his thumb over the back of his palm in a reassuring circular motion.

Launchpad relaxed a bit with Drake's hand in his, but he still tried to think of an excuse to leave the table with Drake. How had the kids come up with so many so quickly? In the meantime, the other adults were still arguing amongst themselves, mostly about Launchpad. He shrank back in his seat, wondering if coming back at all was a mistake. He sat up straighter, though, as he caught Mrs. B's eye. He wasn't about to be scolded for slouching at the table in front of his boyfriend on top of everything else.

Donald was attempting to mediate between the two, though with little success, mostly because he and Della were constantly butting heads.

Mrs. Beakley raised an eyebrow at them. 

“Launchpad. Why don’t you give our guest a tour of the manor? Certainly there’s plenty to see here. I’ll handle the rest of cleaning up dinner, you’re both excused.”

Drake awkwardly stood up, not sure if he should bow or what or how to be formal in this situation, so he just awkwardly nodded to Mrs. Beakley and towards Scrooge and the twins. “Er, thank you for having me. I appreciate it. And thank you for dinner.”

“Yes, of course young man, you don’t need to be so formal. Don’t be intimidated by them. Please don’t hesitate to ask if you need anything, you’re a guest in this house and so long as you don’t cause trouble.”

Launchpad nearly leapt out of his chair and hugged Mrs. B, but contented himself with giving her an appreciative smile and a thumbs up.

"Great idea, thanks, Mrs. B! Come on, Movie Star Guy, let's go!" He practically dragged Drake out of the dining room and back into the foyer, letting out a breath as soon as the door was shut.

"Welp, that wasn't awkward at all. Where should we begin our tour…?"

“What, so I’m just the Movie Star Guy—” He asked, but stopped short as they re-entered the foyer, and he looked around and noticed his duffel bag was gone. Though he had gone to dinner with his messenger bag containing all of his Darkwing gear, he had dropped his duffel in the foyer somewhere soon after they came inside. “Wait a sec, my bag is gone!”

Tilting his head at the empty space that Drake was pointing at, Launchpad seemed utterly unconcerned.

"Oh, yeah! Duckworth probably took it up to our room for you! He's very punctual, he can't stand things left lying around…" He paused for a second. "I thought you said you liked the nickname 'Movie Star Guy'?" 

Drake laughed a bit uneasily. “Oh! Well yeah, I mean, I guess saying DW here is weird, huh… but Duckworth _who?_ He sure snuck in here really quietly then, I never even noticed him when we came in…?” 

There was the distinguished sound of someone clearing their throat from directly behind Drake. "Ahem. Pardon me, sir. I prefer the term 'discrete.' Sneaking is more the sort of thing a spy would do. Not a _proper_ member of staff."

“GAH!” Drake nearly leapt into the air, surprised to find the vaguest notion, an apparition, really, of a butler behind him.

“Ohmygosh. A _ghost?!_ Er, sorry! Also I’m sorry you’re still doing your job in death. That sounds. Um. Kinda harsh. So the housekeeper is a spy and the butler is a ghost?” He processed this for a beat. “That’s! So! COOL!”

Duckworth looked Drake up and down, then did a haughty sniff. "Yes well, Master McQuack, I do trust you to keep our guest out of trouble. Enjoy the tour, sir." With that he floated through the floor and vanished. 

Drake stared after him for a moment, even going as far as to tap the floor where he had vanished cautiously with his toe, as if it would reveal a hidden trapdoor or passageway. 

Hey, you never knew in a place like this! 

He dusted himself off, trying to compose himself. “You know, I get the feeling that everybody around here has some real intense energy! They seem super protective of you. That’s pretty cool. Anyway um. So I guess this is the… entryway? It’s pretty fancy.” 

"Oh, you want fancy? I know exactly where to start! Follow me!" He took him by the hand again, leading him through a small side door in the foyer into a large, dark room. Flipping on the light revealed that the cavernous space was filled with...all _sorts_ of things.

Launchpad gestured broadly to the collected assortment of treasures, knickknacks, brick-a-brack, and ancient artifacts. "Behold! The _gar-_ age! Where we absolutely do not, under any circumstances, keep the vehicles. Yes, Launchpad, _curse me kilts,_ that includes golf carts!" He grinned at Drake, watching his reaction. 

It was massive. It was a glorified storage unit, but it was also something akin to a history museum. Drake had never seen so much stuff, so many treasures, mystical artifacts, and stacks of records and disused furniture in one place, and that was saying a lot! He hauled trash for a living! He wanted to touch everything, but also dared not touch anything. An attempt was clearly being made to organize everything and set it up for display (tax deductible, as Scrooge intended), but it was still nothing short of overwhelming. 

“This is... the garage…?” 

"Yes! The _gar-_ age! Or... as literally everyone besides Mr. McDee calls it, the garage! It's like a museum slash treasure room slash storage unit slash holding location for items with unspeakable curses. Oh yeah... uh... probably don't touch anything. Maybe should have led with that…" 

“Wow... so this must be like... the spoils of all the adventuring? It’s amazing…” His voice dropped to a whisper, breathing his amazement as he walked through the space with all of the awe and reverence one would have if the garage itself were a sacred temple.

“I wonder how many stories there are here… this must be from lifetimes of journeys, all over the world… and LP? You’ve been on some of these? That’s incredible. I bet a lot of this stuff is like magic, or cursed, or filled with cursed magic... I suddenly feel like I’ve done absolutely nothing with my life.” 

"Well, the really valuable stuff is put in the bin... and the _really_ cursed stuff is put in the Other Bin… this is more like… you know how when you have furniture that's too nice to throw away but it's too much of a hassle to sell so you just stow it away? It's more like that! Though Mr. McDee does keep saying he ought to put a lock on it since that dragon escaped…" He smiled. "That was the first time I flew a plane for him, you know? Before that I was his driver, but… flying the SunChaser was… a different kind of adventure." 

He realized he had been reminiscing and flushed slightly, rubbing his arm awkwardly. "I guess it's not the SunChaser anymore… I keep forgetting, Della calls it the CloudSlayer. She… really is a great pilot, you know." 

He was pensive for a minute, as though considering something, then shrugged.

"Anyway, this is the garage, it's uh… not for cars. Or any other vehicles. Or people, really. Actually probably don't mention to Mr. McDee that we came in here."

“Why, am I going to get in trouble for not paying admission?” Drake joked, but the look on Launchpad’s face hinted that maybe, yes, that was exactly what might happen, and he closed his beak.

“Well um. So… yes, ahem, let’s keep moving. I think I could spend all night just wandering around here.”

Making sure to leave everything undisturbed, Launchpad led Drake from room to room, giving him the inside scoop and close personal perspective that only Scrooge McDuck's most trusted pilot would have.

He was sure to include such fascinating details as the best places to watch Darkwing Duck marathons, how the kitchen doubled as a spy training regime if you were lucky enough to get kitchen duty, and which hallways to look out for when the kids were playing what he mystifyingly referred to as 'the games,' which he was assured could get pretty _intense_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had WAY too much fun writing Huey and Louie, and this chapter is a 2-parter, so we hope to have the second half up soon! ~ Mur
> 
> This entire Duckburg arc has just incredible energy and I am HERE for it, I hope you enjoy reading it as much as we did writing it, it's a lot of fun! ~ Rai


End file.
